Harry Potter and the Black Knight
by StrengthAndHonour
Summary: Harry wakes up one morning to a strange phenomenon, giving him a gift. He receives his Inheritance, gains massive power, and becomes the Lightning One that prophecy foretold. A dragon, a Veela, a Vampire, Assassin's Creed, and others besides. Kudos if you can spot them all! / Oh, and there WILL be an attempt at lemon(s)! Expect coarse language and suggestive!Harry.
1. Chapter 1-DIVERGENCE

Disclaimer: If ye know of Harry Potter, then ye know I don't own it- I'm male. Seemplz.

**DIVERGENCE**

Harry Potter woke once again from the recurring nightmare of Cedric Diggory's ghost. His chest rose and fell, as he tried to steady his heart. He was sorry Cedric had died- he was a friend. Harry sat up in bed, and swung his legs out, studying his hands covered in invisible blood. He needed to wash his hands again. Harry was ashamed that he hadn't noticed how easy the Tournament was- only a sphinx with a rudimentary riddle, an acromantula, some weird gravity spell, and some hedges. It was Harry's sense of honour that had gotten Cedric killed. He needed to use his common sense, his intuition, instead of charging in like a Gryffindor; Malfoy would be taking the piss come the new school term, and he needed to stay cool, otherwise he'd end up on the wrong side of Snape. Again. Harry sighed. _It's gonna be a long year..._

Later, Harry was staring out of his window, overlooking the over-ordinary Privet Drive. He was thinking of the future and what it held for him. He knew that Lord Voldemort would be searching for him. He also knew that he wasn't strong enough to fight the Dark Lord- newly-resurrected and Harry still had trouble in the Priori Incantatem Battle of Wills. Harry needed to become stronger, and would therefore require training in the magical arts. Dumbledore would make a fantastic tutor- the man knew _so much_ about magic that others just didn't have the capacity to comprehend! The green-eyed boy stood, thinking about how pureblood wizards could be defeated. Though the use of Muggle technology was frowned upon, Harry was sure that they could find a way to stop electronics from shorting out in contact with magic- muggles could blow up an entire _city_ for Christ's sakes! Harry's thoughts wondered down a fanciful path, of him bringing the magical world into that of the Muggle, integrating the two, with the common inbreeding being stopped and technology increasing tenfold. Harry was daydreaming about what he could do for people if that was so. He would stop disease and expand humanity into the stars- just like those sci-fi shows that Dudley always watched on TV! Harry suddenly remembered- it was his birthday tonight. His mood soured suddenly- his birthday was always the worst time of the summer, when he was treated the worst by his relatives.

He glanced at his watch, seeing the seconds tick by until midnight struck. _I'm fifteen. I wonder what the Dursleys got me this year_, Harry wondered. His ruminations, however, were cut short as a bright flash lit up the night. A small spot of light remained high in the sky, slowly growing brighter and closer.

_A shooting star… I have to make a wish! I wish… I wish that for once in my life, I will have the strength to help others, instead of them helping me. I wish for the strength to combat Voldemort and the Dark! I want to be powerful enough to make the Dark think twice about messing with me again! I wish that I can help people and bring our worlds together, end evil, and- and maybe experience Love…_

Harry's magic- powerful enough to rival Albus Dumbledore's even at this early stage- swelled in answer. The spot of light pulsed. Harry's wish was- in a way- akin to a magical oath. Little did Harry know, however, his magic- the magic he used all the time, to survive and play- was the little tiny teensy weeny piece not locked into his soul. The lock started to crack as his magic tried furiously to fulfil his wish. Locked as it was, it couldn't be erased in rebuttal of the wish, and so struggled to change reality and the future. The small ball of light rushed closer, almost aimed directly at Harry. It pulsed again. Harry's locks again cracked slightly. Suddenly the sphere of light came surging through the closed window of his room, and stopped in mid-air- It smouldered, and burned and coalesced into a small, charcoal-like lump. This lump rippled and bubbled, until the surface was reflective and shiny. Harry reached out, as if in the knowledge that this was the manifestation of his wishes- his hand skimmed the surface of the crystal.

The smooth surface of the crystal rippled, pushed away from Harry's hand. Engrossed in the weird object, Harry neglected to notice other balls of light falling to earth, far in the distance. Then, Harry tried to feel the surface again. This time, it was as hard as it looked. The smooth surface however, did not reflect the second bedroom of Number 4 Privet Drive. No, it showed various scenes of a strange land, parts wreathed in snow, some in sand. It flashed views of vales and rivers, mountains and deserts and seas and glaciers. The images were beautiful, until a figure rose from a background of snow and ice. The palest of white skins, with brittle, almost colourless hair, the figure raised its head, revealing ice-blue eyes. A sword hung from its right hand, almost thin enough to not be seen. The other hand suddenly reached out as of to grab the young boy-

Harry shook his head clear of the vision, and the crystal fell onto his bed.

"What the-?" Harry exclaimed in surprise, as the crystal shrank rapidly, leaving only a small armband with a flaming phoenix upon it in black diamonds. Harry reached for it, completely ignoring his survival instinct, and slipped the armband onto his right arm. Immediately, Harry experienced excruciating pain as the metal sunk into his skin, pushing its way through his muscle, skin and sinew until it reached his bones. Once there, the metal of the armband heated up, until Harry blacked out from the pain of the metal seemingly spreading from his upper arm towards the rest of his body.

* * *

Harry awoke, his head feeling numb and heavy. There was a light surrounding him, cherry-red in colour, which gradually faded away through orange and yellow.

The teen rolled over, and recovered his glasses from where they'd fallen, groaning as he did so. The ground where he had been laying was blackened and charred, his splayed limbs burned into the floorboards. The heat had obviously been so intense, no flames had arisen from his room. Harry groaned in pain again as he suddenly felt immensely cold. He ran to the shower, and turned the heating knob to full, and clambered into the shower. He stood under the boiling hot water, until the hot water ran out. Still he felt cold. Harry wondered what was happening to him. His mind suddenly connected the body-shaped burn and his pain, plus his current predicament. _The pain-as if I was burning- did I really burn? Was I actually hot enough to combust the floorboards?! What is happening to me? What was that armband that wormed into my skin?!_

"Bloody curiosity, just can't keep my hands to myself, can I?" Harry looked at where he had slipped on the armband, and, to his horror, there was a palm-sized ink-black tattoo of a burning phoenix, with red eyes. Underneath, there were the words he could somehow read (despite them being mere squiggly lines) '_Honour until Death_'. It faded away, just as soon as it appeared, leaving unblemished skin behind.

"What the hell? First some random crystal trippy thing, and then some screwed up Goth armband, and now an invisible tattoo? What next, Merlin?" Harry walked back to his room, wary of waking up the Dursleys. Once there, he inspected his room once more. On his desk, which was weirdly free of clutter, lay a large, octagonal box inlaid with black diamond crescents, and flame-ruby stars. The box itself was beautiful, although Harry appeared to have learned his lesson. He picked up his wand from the table and poked the box. No response.

_OK, then, you aren't here to crawl around my skin, so what is it? Who sent the thing, and how did it get here if Hedwig is still with Dumbledore?_ Harry wondered. _There's only one way to find out_, he supposed. Grasping the lip of the lid by opposite sides, he lifted the covering to reveal a mask similar in colouring to the metal armband. This mask was stranger, if possible. The eye slits showed nothing through them, as if covered in some half-reflective material, and the area of the mask that covered the temples on the head extended back to sharp points behind where the ears would be. The mouth slit was a hard line, with angular lip-like protrusions. The weirdest thing of all was the smoke that seemed to be held within the mask. Instead of being plain matte black, it both shined, and absorbed light. Harry could feel the magic roiling off the mask, but, to his surprise it didn't feel dirty as it did like being near Tom Riddle's diary- the last time he'd felt magic emanating from an object. It felt… Harry couldn't think of a word that fit. Benevolent? Benign? Hermione would know of course, but Harry knew he would be forced to explain what he'd done. Best to keep his idiocy to himself.

The mask lay in the ornate box, swathed in priceless cloth, and yet Harry had the feeling the mask was worth infinite quantities more. Gently, with great care, he lifted the mask out of its container until the last of the fine silk and velvet fell free. The tingling of the magic grew stronger, it felt as if every bone in his body was being drawn to the mask. _It can't hurt to just put it on, see what it looks like. I mean, it's not like its Dark magic!_ Harry reasoned. With that, he slowly raised the mask until the inside was in view. _Strange, it's got padding in it! Are those runes, too?_ The padded lining of the mask grew closer and closer to his face, until Harry settled it into place. His eyes closed, he relished the feeling of the cool cloth padding against his skin. _So smooth! I wonder who made it?_ The temple-points fitted snugly around the curve of Harry's cranium, holding the swirling mask in place.

Turning to look into his mirror, he nearly screamed in shock! The eye slits had taken on his iris colour, glowing a deep, vivid emerald colour. Around the mask was an aura of swirling darkness, which also seemed to be emanating from inside his own limbs. _Is this that Mage Sight thing that was mentioned in one of those books Hermione got for the Tournament? I can _see_ magic! My wand is bright, and so's my trunk! I wonder if people will be the same…_ Looking out of the front window once more, the masked Harry hoped to spot one of the residents of Privet Drive. What he got however, was a surprise. A surprise in the form of an invisible person, shown up by their aura. From what he could see the figure was a woman who shimmered greatly, as if seen through water. _There's an invisible woman in my front garden! I thought Dumbledore said I was safe here_?! Harry sighed. _Never mind. They've probably been there a while, and they haven't done anything, so they probably won't do anything now._

With that, Harry turned away from the window and sat back down on his bed. He lifted the mask off, and suddenly everything returned to normal. He did notice a sudden feeling of loss, but he pushed it away. Harry turned the mask over in his hands, wondering what the runes meant. He really should've taken Ancient Runes instead of stupid Divination. That quack Trelawney constantly predicting his death just depressed him. Screw an easy grade- he wanted knowledge. Something to help him fend off Voldemort now he was back. He supposed that he should owl Professor McGonagall to change his electives- Care of Magical Creatures was fun, but useless. Hagrid would understand, he was sure. Harry knew it would be a hell of a lot of work- two, maybe three new electives if he took Muggle Studies would take up all of his time this year. Not to mention the fact that Defence Against the Dark Arts would be useless. However, he still needed a way to contact his Head of House, seeing as Ron and Hermione hadn't owled him this holiday. Not even for his birthday.

Harry frowned. Some friends! They knew he was being starved, and chose to ignore it. Meh, whatever. Suddenly, a bit of movement outside his window drew his attention. Cautious this time, Harry crept to the window sill to see the Weasley owl- Errol- aiming for the closed window of his bedroom.

* * *

**A/N** Right. This is my first ever published fanfic, so BE NICE. I'd like to know if you guys think I should continue, or change the style- this is all in preparation for my becoming an author, so constructive criticism works best.

Flamers gonna flame, but hell, why are you still reading?


	2. Chapter 2- AN UNEXPECTED LETTER

Disclaimer: If ye know of Harry Potter, then ye know I don't own it- I'm male. Seemplz.

**AN UNEXPECTED LETTER**

_Ron and Hermione hadn't owled him this holiday. Not even for his birthday. _

_Harry frowned. Some friends! They knew he was being starved, and chose to ignore it. Meh, whatever. Suddenly, a bit of movement outside his window drew his attention. Cautious this time, Harry crept to the window sill to see the Weasley owl- Errol- aiming for the closed window of his bedroom._

Jumping up, Harry flung open the window just in time, as the barmy bird dived into his room, and cannoned into his bed. One puff of feathers later, a letter was deposited into his hand by the knackered owl. On the front, it said:

_Mr Harry James Potter,_

_The Smallest Bedroom,_

_Number Four Privet Drive,_

_Surrey._

In cursive, slightly swirly handwriting. Interested in the sudden busyness of his holidays, Harry tore open the letter. Inside, it read:

_Mr. Potter (Harry, if I may call you that?), _

_It has come to my attention that you were not educated in the ins and outs of the magical world, as other Muggle-raised wizards are. My daughter, Fleur Delacour, mentioned it in passing to me. I assume, due to your lack of contact, that you did not know that your father and I were once very close. Your father was a cautious, calculating, and viciously clever man, and saw it fit to entrust me with a copy of his and his wives' wills. Yes, wives, as in 'plural'. No one ever acknowledges the fact that Eileen McKinnon, Julia Bones and Lily Evans were all his wives. As you may be pleased to find out, you came of age today, and so should be coming by your inheritance, if it hasn't found you already. I have been in contact with your magical 'Guardian'- Albus Dumbledore, of whom I am sure you are aware is your Guardian- in relation to this. He insists on you being left to your so-called 'childhood'. However, with the Dark Lord risen again, you need to train. If you agree, I would very much appreciate it if you would consider this offer: I can offer training for you in everything you need to survive. I can afford the best tutors, the best spellbooks, and even the best stress-relief. (Don't mention that to my wife, Apolline!). My manor home in the French Alps has been equipped with the necessary precautions for your coming of age since I was made your secondary Godfather. You will need to rest within the specific Chamber to come to your full inheritance- we will talk in detail of this face-to-face later._

_I anticipate your reply post-haste,_

_Signed,_

_Jacques Delacour,_

_Minister for Magic,_

_France._

_P.S.: My daughter was given this to somehow hand to you through your house-arrest. I hope it finds you well._

Harry leaned back, now completely confused. One, why would _Fleur_ be given this to get to him? How would she have _any_ form of contact with him in the first place- or access to the Weasley's owl, for that matter? Two, how could he refuse the offer of training, for free, and from someone who knew his dad as someone different to those who claimed to be his best friends? Three, what was this about his parent's wills? And _three fucking wives_, too! Nobody had _ever_ mentioned the other two, or their wills. Four- Harry wondered what this inheritance was, seeing as his trust vault was his for life, so far as he knew.

Harry had a dilemma. Did he a) check out the wills and training, or b) forget it, and train himself? _Urgh, I need help, I can't even practice magic over the summer, how can I even do my homework?_ His mind made up, at least for the moment, Harry dug around in his desk drawer for a quill and inkpot. Instead, all he found was one of Dudley's old pens. A biro. _Huh. Wonder why Muggleborns don't use these_. Harry found a scrap of parchment and wrote out a quick, albeit informal, response saying he would like to know more before signing on for anything. Looking over at Errol, he knew the poor thing wouldn't be able to fly tonight. So, being the kind, gentle-minded boy he was, Harry scooped up the filthy owl and deposited it in Hedwig's cage. And closed the window- he didn't want the silly bird leaving without his message.

* * *

The next morning, Harry awoke to a loud but pitiful hoot as Errol tried to get out of the closed window. It seemed incapable of understanding the physics of glass.

Harry chuckled slightly, and picked up the letter to Monsieur Delacour. Tying it to Errol's leg, Harry made it clear who it was to. He also made it clear for the owl to rest every now and then- it wouldn't be good if the owl dropped dead on the French Minister for Magic's couch.

The young boy settled down to watch the belaboured flapping of Errol until he disappeared. _Right, let's see if we can't find out who's spying on me…_ Harry thought, as he made his way to the bathroom. He didn't even remember the dream of Cedric's ghost he'd had the night before.

After a pleasant shower, still vastly earlier than the Dursleys would arise, Harry quickly retrieved his Cloak from under the loose floorboard. Swishing it about himself, he realised he wouldn't be able to see his mystery person- he'd need the mask for that. Harry's head slowly turned towards the box on his desk, which contained the mask which- according to Monsieur Delacour- was part of his inheritance. Picking up the weird mask, this time he noticed a small note lying tucked amongst the cloth. _The Mask of Dark Souls_, it read. Flipping over the note, the other side read: _MoDS will absorb the soul of any evil or Dark being slain in the vicinity, upon activation. In conjunction with the Valyrian Adamantium Battle Suit, Helm, Body Glove and assorted accessories, the wielder and wearer of this mask will attain new heights in their powers. This may only be reached through selfless use of the VA Suit and Accessories, and will only exhibit the extraordinary properties when in contact with the bloodline of Andal Peverell._

_Not just priceless, then. Unique!_ Harry thought. He wondered who this Andal Peverell was, and where he learned to smith like this. Maybe Monsieur Delacour would know. For now, Harry just needed to use the mask to see who was spying on him. Setting down the note, he slipped the mask on, and proceeded to slowly and silently make his way down the stairs and out of the front door. He quickly closed the door, making sure to leave the latch on. Using the mask, he could see the figure of a woman sitting against the garden wall of Number Three, and occasionally looking towards to house. The figure was obviously drowsy. Harry walked down the patio path to the pavement, and then stealthily snuck behind the invisible spy. Before he decided whether to confront them, however, the figure started talking to themselves.

"Bloody hell, why does Dumbledore have us staking out Harry's house? What does he think'll happen, a riot? Harry can look after himself, after all. He was so cute when I was in Seventh Year, I'll never forget. Now, though… He's going to be hot stuff when he's older, I tell you. *sighs* Talking to yourself again Tonks? What next? Invisible masturbation? That'd be embarrassing as fuck. I just wish Dumbles would tell me why I'm here- Harry can't be the Weapon, Dumbledore wouldn't call him that, would he?"

Harry scowled as he realised that Dumbledore was taking his 'protection' too far. Not only stopping him from seeing his friends and getting mail from hem, but what seemed to be treating him as a weapon as well. _Well, we'll see about _that_! I'll get training and then become cleverer than Hermione. Then we'll see who's an item to be bandied about! Wait… did she say MASTURBATION?!_ Harry grinned, as the lecherous side of his brain started going into hyperdrive. _Wonder if she's fit?_ Harry wondered.

* * *

It took almost three days until Monsieur Delacour replied to Harry's letter. Three unbearable fucking days. All the note said was "_11 PM. Magnolia Crescent Park. Bring all of your magical needs, and your inheritance, too. DO NOT be spotted by your minder._" Harry grinned, and started to pack. He threw away all of the junk at the bottom of his trunk, as well as all of the crappy textbooks he'd never need. He knew them all off by heart anyway. The three days between sending off his letter and receiving the reply had been hell. The Dursleys had been forcing him into doing all the housework possible, leaving him only five or six hours of sleep per night. Adding to that, he'd been allowed next to no food, either. Harry was growing weaker by the day, losing even more of his hard-earned weight. He was _so_ glad he'd be leaving.

Harry finished packing his trunk, making sure it was as light as possible. He also packed a rucksack, in which he placed the box holding the mask. The Dursleys had gone out for lunch, and left the fridge padlocked. So, in aid of feeling full at least once this holiday, Harry raided his cousin's room. Harry had never actually been in there, or even seen the interior. The walls were covered in wrestling, boxing and porn posters, with a lot of the so-called models being pretty fugly- right up Dudley's street. The floor was covered in sedimentary layers of food wrappers, used tissues (which Harry avoided at all costs) and dirty plates. Harry quickly found the bedside table and rooted through the top drawer looking for anything edible. His cousin was clinically obese- surely there was food _somewhere_?

"Aha! Gotcha!" Harry yelled, as his fingers came into contact with a box of biscuits. Ripping off the lid, Harry was immediately dismayed. The only thing in the box was a pile of see-through baggies holding white powder, pills and green herbs. _Weird, wonder what this is for? Oh! Oh shit! Dudley's doing drugs! Or is he dealing? The bastard!_ Harry thought; _Although… What if I slipped some weed into Dumbledore's office? Maybe into Fawkes' ash tray? That'd make him truly high! Or… maybe sprinkle some cocaine over the Sherbet Lemons, or transfigure the ecstasy into the lemons… Oh, this is too good._ Harry scooped the entire collection of baggies into his left front pocket. The trousers were big enough to hide the bulge. He hoped. Harry continued in his quest for food through the pigsty.

"Whew! Hard work, but it's paid off! I just can't wait until Dudley finds out _all_ his food is gone! Hahaha!" Harry was sitting on his bed, surrounded in piles and piles of chocolate bars, energy drinks, biscuit tins (of real biscuits this time), and crisps. Besides the first tin of drugs, there were four more. There was nearly a kilo of each drug- what Harry estimated to be worth thousands of pounds. He chuckled at the problems he'd cause Dumbles this year…

* * *

It was ten fifty-five PM. Harry had stashed the massive piles of food in his trunk, and then cached the trunk itself in Magnolia Park under a bush. It was time to leave. Harry made his way downstairs, and was about to leave when he heard a familiar voice. _What's Dumbledore doing here?_ Harry thought, as he sidled up to the half-open living room door.

"Petunia, my dear, it's been too long!" That was _definitely_ Dumbledore!

"Professor Dumbledore, four years is too soon in my opinion. Why are you here?" Aunt Petunia's voice was cold, almost ice-like.

"Now, now, Petunia, dear. Who's been funding your dear little boy's education? Of course, it's not my own money, its Harry's. But what he doesn't know, can't hurt him, eh, Petunia?" Harry stood stock still. _My money? How in the _hell_ did Dumbledore get a hold of my money? The only person who has my Vault Key is- Oh. Mrs. Weasley. She's basically Dumbledore's slave, anyway. I am _so_ going to kill that woman!_ Harry maintained his silence, however.

Petunia sighed. "Yes, alright."

"Now, Petunia, its time you started actually beating the boy. Not _Dudley_, dear me, no! _Harry_! He is far too arrogant when he arrives at Hogwarts. He needs to be… toned down a bit. I know you're giving him no food, but maybe try and set Dudley onto him or something. Make sure he does his father proud. I will unbind my son's magic when the time comes. Harry's bindings will stay. I'll make sure he dies when killing Tom, just to make sure he can't interrupt my plans." Now _that_ was interesting. Harry was sure Rita Skeeter would be having multiple orgasms if she found out _that_ little titbit. Plus, Harry now knew he could _not_ trust Dumbles _at all_.

Harry quickly covered himself in his Cloak, and then silently slipped out the front door. Turning back, he saw a nightmare-making scene- Dumbledore was stripping down, in front of a very excited Petunia. _Talk about hot and cold_, Harry thought. He shivered, and then starting sprinting towards the Park, his rucksack in hand.

* * *

**A/N**: This is most likely to turn out a little bit Gary-Stu, but the story should hopefully make up for it. Fantasy + swords + magic = nerdporn in my opinion. The levels of swearing and stuff may or may not escalate. As an Estuary English speaker myself, I don't see swearing as bad, per se, so emphasis is the desired effect in most cases. As with most fanfiction these days- if you don't like it, leave a review, and then stop reading. I'd hate to put people off with my half-tossed ideas and perverted thoughts about French girls, vampires and werewolves.

Any romance is not likely to be one-on-one- I like more than one personality.

SaHFF signing off, **HAKUNA MATATA** peeps. ;)


	3. Chapter 3- REVELATIONS

Disclaimer: If ye know of Harry Potter, then ye know I don't own it- I'm male. Seemplz.

**REVELATIONS**

_Dumbledore was stripping down, in front of a very excited Petunia. _Talk about hot and cold_, Harry thought. He shivered, and then starting sprinting towards the Park, his rucksack in hand._

At exactly eleven PM, a figure swathed in black robes reminiscent of those worn by Death Eaters appeared in a swirl of grey smoke. The figure, although somewhat short, was broad in the shoulder. The dark silhouette turned its head left, then right. Suddenly, Harry leapt out of the shadows of a bush and held one of his Aunt Petunia's kitchen knives to the robed figure's neck.

"What's the password?" he hissed.

"I was not aware that Mister Potter wished to have a password." The slight French lilt to the speaker's tone was all Harry needed to know who this was.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't be too careful. Plus, wizards never expect to be physically attacked, anyway." Harry had realised this earlier- if he could learn how to fight even without his wand, he'd be set for life!

"A sound strategy, Mr. Potter. I myself employ the use of several weapons. In my position, there are many who would stoop _too_ low, one would say." Definitely _not_ a native Englishman- far too archaic in his lingo. Harry stepped back from the man, allowing him to manoeuvre away slightly.

"This is an enchanting chat, Mr. Potter, but may we move somewhere else? This is too open to sudden attack."

"Oh, yes, of course. Just let me get my trunk, sir." Harry hurried back to the bush he'd sprung out of, and uncovered the trunk from the Cloak. Hefting it onto his shoulder, Harry quickly walked over to the waiting Frenchman.

"Bon! Away we go!" The man grabbed Harry's arm, and then the two swirled away in grey smoke and light.

* * *

Imagine being pushed through the intestines of the world's smallest worm. Then imagine that the worm has a very bad stomach problem, causing immense congestion. That would sufficiently compare the feeling of apparition. If you had a small mind. To Harry, it felt like intestinal rape. With a poker. And hotdogs.

He landed on the ground in a very well-to-do garden, and promptly fought to control his stomach. Once satisfied that any immediate motion would not expel his recently filled (for the first time in a month) stomach, Harry straightened, and took in the area around him. A rose-garden was laid out in front of a large manor house, which looked to have been built in the mid-eighteenth century. Or something. The house was mostly in darkness, apart from one light still on, in what Harry assumed to be a bedroom.

"I told her not to stay up for us, but there she is. My eldest, Fleur, is eager to meet you properly. You must understand, Madame Maxime- the Battleaxe- leans on her to act a certain way, so do not be surprised if she is different at home." Harry was a bit up in the air about not being at the Dursleys for the rest of the summer. He'd actually forgotten that Fleur was this man's daughter. This would be awkward. How many times last year had he had a spankin' good dream about that very girl? Oh, sure, she was seventeen, now eighteen, but hell. She was a goddess, even without the allure she sometimes used.

"Mr. Potter, I must make this clear to you. My daughter is going through her Veela Maturity at this period in time, and so she will be… emotional. One minute, she may be crying about nothing, and the next, throwing fireballs in anger at some perceived slight. All I can ask, is that you do not bed her. A Veela's one-ness, or virginity as we humans call it, is integral to their magic. They fall in love with the man to make them whole. A boy such as yourself must know of what I speak- the girls at Hogwarts must be throwing themselves at you, Mr. Potter!"

"Uh- Mr. Delacour- I've never- um. I don't… I've never even had a girlfriend, sir. I wouldn't even know what to do. I mean, I know what you mean, we were told of the whole 'how babies are made' thing in primary school. It was stressed that- uh- _it_ before marriage was wrong. Wait- did you say 'fireballs'?" Mr. Delacour's eyebrows rose at that. The boy wasn't taught about Veela? What on earth?!

"Harry, I think that, before we start on your inheritance training, we need to run over the basics. Were you ever introduced to the magical world, before your first year at Hogwarts?"

"No, sir."

"OK, where you told about your family's lineage?"

"No, I was told that, paternally at least, they were purebloods." Jacques' brow furrowed. He knew that Harry's mother, Lily Evans, was of completely pureblood Squib descent.

"Were you ever given any training once it was clear that the Dark Lord was rising once more?"

This threw Harry. He hadn't really thought about it. As the pair began to walk up towards the house, Harry answered, "No, sir. I wasn't. Even when Voldemort was resurrected, Dumbledore threw me back to my relatives. Oh, and it turns out that Dudley- my cousin- is actually Dumbledore's son, who's had his magic bound or something? And my Aunt is funding his education at Smeltings with my money, that I suspect Mrs. Weasley has been smuggling Dumbledore. Plus, Dumbles was planning on having Dudley beat the living shit out of me. Any help? I could do with some, I think. Oh, and my magic was bound too." Jacques continued his questions until the pair reached the front door. By that time Jacques was livid, having been given an abbreviated version of Harry's childhood- or lack thereof.

The front doors swung open to reveal a large open entrance hall with Greek-style pillars running the length of it. Periodically, there were doors leading off to other parts of the manor. Instead of offering to tour the house, Jacques took Harry straight towards his private study. Once there, the elder man swept around to his side of the desk, and sunk into his plush leather armchair. Harry hovered, unsure of whether he should sit or not. Silence reigned, until Harry asked, "Are you alright, sir? You're suddenly very quiet."

The man looked up, startled from his thoughts. "Really, Harry? Shouldn't I be the one asking if you're OK? Starvation can have terrible consequences- and I'm not talking about your Aunt and Dumbledore. We'll need to get you potions for nutrition and muscle growth, and proper bone-healing potions too. I'll need some help- I can't brew these myself." The man continued muttering, although Harry couldn't hear most of it. The occasional "Parsel" and "Healing" made it across, however. This continued for some time.

* * *

It was nearing dawn by the time Monsieur Delacour had seemed to come to a conclusion. His furrowed brow rose, and his visage lightened. "Harry, I'm so sorry. Let me find you a room, and you can have a proper night's sleep."

Harry looked extremely happy at this, as Monsieur Delacour called a house elf.

"Dinky!" A small, yet slightly rotund elf popped in next to the desk.

"Oui, Monsier? Comment allez-vous, monsieur?" The small elf was very… normal… compared to the rabid house elves of Hogwarts. There was no bouncing, no crying (yet), and no alcoholism. It was nice to know that some elves were happy in themselves.

"Dinky- you are to talk in English in the presence of our esteemed guest, until such a time as he can speak and understand our language fluently. Now, Mr. Potter would like to be shown to- ah, _the _Room- and, after Harry has been settled, I would like a stiff cognac. I'm afraid it's been one of _those_ days again."

"Yes, Master Jacques. Would Mr. Potter be expecting the special 'morning' treatment?" The little elf smirked at Harry then, as if with some foul knowledge.

"Not for the foreseeable future, Dinky. I will tell you when he changes his mind. Not a word of this, either."

"Yes Master." With that, the elf gripped Harry's hand, and started to walk through the halls.

The journey took a good five minutes, with Harry paying less and less attention to his surroundings as the journey continued. Finally, the height mismatched duo reached a large, almost cavernous room. The walls, Harry noticed, were bare, carved stone, and the floor was paved with large slabs of rock. The doors guarding the room ahead were lined with black, highly reflective metal. The doors, however, stood tightly closed, refusing entry to the two. On one side of the door, the left, was inscribed an enormous Griffin, and on the other, the right, was carved a raised form of a Phoenix. The two had one leg and a wing raised, as if in recognition of Harry as he stood before the door. This must be what Jacques meant by 'equipped with the proper precautions' in his letter. The door, Harry finally noticed, seemed to have some sort of red, ethereal glow emanating from within, making the black metal shine with a red hint. At its very centre, there was a small handprint-shaped indentation. Harry knew what to do. He didn't know how. He just _knew_.

Harry stepped forwards, and then placed his right hand on the mark. _Clang_! A lock raised somewhere in the door, and then a spike collected a small droplet of Harry's blood. _Clang_! Another lock raised inside the voluminous door. Harry felt a tiny drain on his magic, and the last bolt clanged up. The two doors swung open, to reveal a long tunnel.

At the end of the low entrance, Harry spied a simple bed. Not even questioning how safe this was, what with him virtually being locked up in a colossal tomb, Harry stumbled over to the bed, and swiftly passed out onto the soft, slightly giving surface. The small house elf- Dinky- clicked its fingers. Harry's clothes were instantly replaced with warm, comfortable pyjamas, and the bedspread slid back and then over the sleeping boy. Quickly, the house elf disapparated, leaving the room barren of any company. Harry slumbered on.

* * *

It was midnight. Harry had slept through the next day, and straight on through the night. His body still needed to acclimatise to the foreign substance now coating his bones. The black metal had spread from his upper right arm, to cover every bone in his body. It shifted and rippled, moving with his muscles, reinforcing their movement. The mask, still in Harry's rucksack, glowed slightly, as if feeling the tremors of lunar magic beaming down from the moon above. Its containing case opened, and the mask lifted out. Behind the eye slits, were two white orbs. The orbs, although stationary, seemed to be gazing at Harry. There was a wealth of experience and knowledge in those eyes, and they seemed only to yearn to pass it on.

In his sleep, Harry rolled over, baring his face to the ceiling. Seizing this chance, the mask floated over, and slowly settled over Harry's face.

* * *

**A/N** So, I've got seventeen chapters written already, and I'm uploading one per week. This story is headed towards a multi-pairing methinks, but I'm leaving it hanging as to whether there will be a lemon or several (opinions welcome, people!). As I mentioned to Blorg13 just today, I hope to end up in Westeros, most specifically the North. However, that is well I the future.

You could possibly describe this chapter as a filler, but it is essential to the continuation of this fic :D

Inspirational Music for the Week: Gone Sovereign by Stone Sour.

Film of the Week: Dragonheart (1996), Sean Connery, David Thewlis (y'know, Lupin's actor).

Book of the Week: Airborn by Kenneth Oppel.

Ciao


	4. Chapter 4- FORGETFULNESS

Disclaimer: If ye know of Harry Potter, then ye know I don't own it- I'm male. Seemplz.

**en extase-** Thanks for the review! Your PM is blocked, so I'm replying here. I admit- things are slightly sketchy, and probably will remain so :( Its a point for me to improve upon, so thanks a lot!

**FORGETFULNESS**

WARNING: The below chapter contains 'M' rated material. If you are classified as 'underage' in your country of residence, don't be a retard- skip down to below the italic. You'll miss a nice image, though :D

* * *

_The mask, still in Harry's rucksack, glowed slightly, as if feeling the tremors of lunar magic beaming down from the moon above. Its containing case opened, and the mask lifted out. Behind the eye slits, were two white orbs. The orbs, although stationary, seemed to be gazing at Harry. There was a wealth of experience and knowledge in those eyes, and they seemed only to yearn to pass it on._

_In his sleep, Harry rolled over, baring his face to the ceiling. Seizing this chance, the mask floated over, and slowly settled over Harry's face._

Harry was having a dream. To be fair, if was bloody fantastic. He was in a gigantic bed, all alone, when Fleur Delacour sauntered into the room. She stopped at the edge of the bed, and slowly teased her nightgown off of her fair shoulders. Beneath, she wore nothing but the beautiful skin she was born with. And what skin it was! It seemed to glow in the moonlight streaming in through the bay windows, and her breasts poked up in a perky fashion. Her nipples stood erect, reacting to Harry's observations. Her cheeks flushed, the girl started to crawl onto Harry's bed, until she was holding herself over his prone form. Just as the goddess-like woman was about to press her sweet lips to Harry's, he felt a pressure on his mind. He could describe it no other way- just _pressure_. It increased, stealing his attentions from the vision before him. _Damn! But_- Harry was cut off mid-thought as the dream expanse faded from view. Replacing it was a simple, still image of a run-down shack, with the skeleton of a small grass snake nailed to the remains of the front door.

The view changed to show the view through the front door, into what could have once been the dining room. Now, it was a rotted expanse of wood, covered in large quantities of dust and dead leaves. In the centre of the room, underneath a piece of the large table was what looked to be a black stain. Harry suddenly realised he was seeing through the Mask. The stain must be Dark Magic! The view dissolved once more, this time showing a small box of useless trinkets- gold plastic lockets, a ring, and some beads. The ring, however, howled with barely contained agony. The aura surrounding it was trembling, as if the thing within was trying to break free. Harry understood what it was. It was as if the mask was sending him small snippets of information. A… Horcrux? Something to do with souls. And Voldemort, somehow. Harry could feel some kind of link to the ring, as if he shared some kind of _bond_ with it. He also felt others. Seven bonds in all, two of them moving slightly, as if mobile. Those bonds were the weakest- as if there was less soul to bond to.

_What could these Horcruxes be for? Souls… some kind of container? An anchor? If they are, then I doubt anyone will answer my questions. Hermione may even get the wrong idea, and tell dear old Dumbles_…

The stain in the floor started to seep towards Harry. He tried to move, but he couldn't feel his muscles- it was as if the Mask was controlling him! The black stain reached for him, rose apart from the rotted floorboards, and turned into a small face. It looked remarkably like the Tom Riddle Junior from Harry's second year, and the Chamber of Secrets, yet smokier.

"Please! I don't know who you are, but _kill me_! I did not know what this ring was, when I entombed my soul within it! The voices! The voices of the _dead_! They _scream_ and _shout_ and _rip_ my soul to _pieces_! Please! _Release me!_"

Harry was shocked- whether from learning the powers of the ring, or from learning that Riddle regretted tearing his soul asunder. A man that could willingly cage his soul in an object, so far from the beating of a heart, and the thrum of emotions, and _still_ feel regret meant one thing- Voldemort was redeemable. And if he was redeemable, then Dumbledore would seek to capture him alive. If the Old Goat did that, people would die in the process, maybe even Harry himself. _That's not gonna happen, mate_ thought Harry, as the Mask sent him yet another small piece of wisdom.

Horcruxes were encoded with a password, one that unbound the soul from the object without damaging it. According to the mask, this ring was not just a magical artefact- it was part of something greater- something Else.

* * *

At the same time as Harry's dreaming, the Headmaster of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the British Wizengamot, Grand Sorcerer and Order of Merlin (First Class), Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was in a massive pile of shit. He had once again stooped to sheathing his wand in the foul Muggle scum Petunia Dursley. And, as always, he had memory charmed her to forget his suggestions, and merely use them as her own. The problem, is, see, his wand didn't work. No, not _that_ wand! His magic one! The Elder Wand, the Stick of Destiny, the Deathstick. Or, as one entity knew it- an Aetherion Fragment. A shard of other-worldly crystal, shaped, moulded, and warped into magical conductivity. The Elder Wand was not to be used by mortals- their desires were so easily inflected to such items. So, when the wand finally sensed its master, the one who could control it, mould it, shape it, and assimilate it- it changed allegiances. Just like that, a burst of magic that transcended whatever level of activity Dumbledore could recognise. A flash, an instant of understanding that went unnoticed. And Dumbledore fucked up. Big time.

He held his wand to the post-coital Petunia Dursley, and incanted, as he had many times before, "**Memoria subcintus**". What he didn't notice, was that although the wand performed the magic, it did not appreciate being used by anyone but its master. So it revolted. The Wand of Destiny left no permanence to the charm, which would later cause Petunia Dursley much grief. Her beloved sister's son- who had so reminded the distraught woman of her- had been _starved_ by that man's orders. She had carried a hundred-and-something old paedophile's child, and had coveted it like it was the last child on earth. She had _neglected_ her beloved sister's boy! _Oh, what have I done_?! Petunia saw Dumbledore prattling away about what she should do to the boy. His casual dismissal of Harry as an object- a weapon- sparked severe, deep-seated hatred to emerge. The weedy housewife grabbed the nearest household accessory- an antique candle-stick. She gripped it by its top, and swung with all her might. The base- a solid block of silver- smashed straight into the old man's chest. He immediately toppled, his ribcage staved in.

She rushed forwards, in for the kill, when he twisted away, and into nothingness.

Petunia Dursley howled in anguish- she knew she would never see the man again, and he would never allow her say a word against him. The woman fell to her knees, her apron bunching up around her midriff. She collapsed, in a sudden fit of pain. Her heart, it felt like it was squeezing so hard, just too hard to-

A man swirled into existence in her line of sight, right before the fireplace. A man dressed solely in black, with a long, sweeping black cloak. He rushed forth, and fell to his knees at her side.

"Petunia! _Petunia_! What's wrong? What's happened? Why did you attack Albus like that? _Why_?" Severus Snape, the traitor-spy who worked both sides of the fence, saw the woman clutching her chest. Quickly- almost too fast to see- he whipped out a vial of green slime. He forced the contents down her throat, to her obvious relief. She crumpled to the floor, nose buried in the fluffy carpet she lovingly cleaned herself. Her one vice… Her nephew helped, now and again… _Harry!_

Petunia swung up again- rigid as a beanpole- and looked Snape directly in the eyes. "Severus, Albus Dumbledore has been raping me for fifteen years- he's been planting ideas in my head about Harry- like how he should be starved, and how I should set Dudley on him. Dudley isn't Vernon's- he's _Dumbledore's_ son! He bound both Harry's and Dudley's magic! He _made_ me treat him like a slave! Severus, there was never any love lost between us- but please- look into my mind- I know you can- see what my memories are!"

Snape- always the man to believe that Potter had lived the lap of luxury at his home in the summer peered into the mindscape of Petunia Dursley. At first, all he saw was Dumbledore's tiny pecker. Then, he saw the same wand- Dumbledore's- pointed at her, again and again and again. What he told her to do- to starve, to beat, to treat like a house elf- the Boy-Who-Lived. No wonder the boy was so starved for attention- no doubt the only people to pay him any attention were ones who beat him, hurt him, the ones who put him down. Like he himself had been doing, the last four years of the boy's life.

Well _no more_! Severus knew what it was like to be beaten. To be ignored. But not how it felt to be less than a house elf. He… sympathised with Harry. Suddenly, Severus remembered the circumstances of the ordeal- Dumbledore casting illegal Memory Charms. Had _he_ been charmed? Time to check. His safe-words that nobody knew. The auditory reset for his memory scape:

"Tobias Snape, Eileen Prince, Half-Blood Prince."

* * *

Harry felt a new connection- one that felt much like the one to the ring. He noticed, with the typical apathy of the sleeping, that there were actually _two_ bonds to the ring. One, he guessed, to the soul. And another to the ring itself. So, there was a set of items he felt an attraction to- for what, though, he didn't know. The soul trapped inside the ring continued to cry out for eternal release- but Harry, surprised at his own vengeance, sought another way to remedy the situation. A way more painful to the soul than anything else. A Horcrux was formed partially through the hate of the caster (and soul-ripper), and partially of the soul itself. So, using his sadistic capabilities, Harry thought of Dementors. They fed on souls. They especially liked the ones with plenty of negative emotions. There was one here, writhing in pain, anguish, and fear. _Five-star gourmet, if ever there was one_, Harry thought. All he needed was a Dementor. But how would he get one? That would be solved later. Right now, Harry wanted the Ring safe from the caustic soul encased within.

* * *

Dumbledore sat nursing his chest as Skele-Gro coursed through his veins. _What the devil happened to my wand_?! Dumbledore thought, as he turned the thing over in his hands. The fifteen-inch long wand was sparking lightly, and seemed to pulling in a south-easterly direction. Ever so slightly, but the old man could tell. Somehow, someone had managed to change the allegiance of the wand. The core, as he understood, was of a three-thousand year old Thestral. To use these, one must truly have conquered death. Or Death. Or some variation thereof. Except, for the first time in almost sixty years, Albus Dumbledore had wielded his own wand in aid of ascertaining the material of the core. This was merely a side-effect of trying to trace the new owner. But it side-tracked him, alright. The core was of something that the spell had never been used to determine before. No name was known. No properties understood. No nothin', as some Muggles would say. Zilch. Nada. Fuck all. He did know that if he let the wand slip from his fingers, its trail of blood would blaze through history once more.

In his old age, Dumbledore's old and age-frazzled mind drifted for a few seconds. Pulling himself back together, Albus set down both wands, and rubbed his eyes. He groaned a bit, and suddenly wished for something stronger than his usual alcohol-laced sherbet lemons. He finished rubbing his tired old eyes, and suddenly remembered something _very_ important. He was not supposed to let the wand go. And yet, in his old-age, the Old Goat, the Master manipulator had _forgotten_ to hold on to it. There was a small, two to three centimetre-wide hole in the coloured panes of his window. Dumbledore sighed. It was going to be one hell of a year.

* * *

**A/N** I'm no longer particularly happy with how this fic is going, but I promised a sequel, so I have to finish this one first. No, I'm kidding! I've just finished writing the first action-inclusive chapter (so, about 16 chapters in the future :D ) I'll not be posting on Friday evening (my time) next week, seeing as I'm in Tenerife (WAAAHHHEY). I'll try and post on the Monday/ Tuesday, but defo early the week. I may still be drunk as all heck, but hey!

Plus, I'd like to thank all of the reviewers giving constructive criticism, and Blorg13 again for being my FF homie. As yet, I have no beta, but being the perfectionist I am, I seem to think that my spelling is good. Obviously, any glaring continuity problems should be reported to the appropriate authorities (ME).

SaHFF


	5. Chapter 5- MAGIA MUTATIO

Disclaimer: If ye know of Harry Potter, then ye know I don't own it- I'm male. Seemplz.

**Magia Mutatio**

WARNING: The below chapter contains a reference to 'M' rated material. If you are classified as 'underage' in your country of residence, don't be a retard- don't look up 'French Bunny' by Smutgasm. You'll miss a nice image, though! From now on- no more warnings! :D

_In his old age, Dumbledore's old and age-frazzled mind drifted for a few seconds. Pulling himself back together, Albus set down both wands, and rubbed his eyes. He groaned a bit, and suddenly wished for something stronger than his usual alcohol-laced sherbet lemons. He finished rubbing his tired old eyes, and suddenly remembered something very important. He was not supposed to let the wand go. And yet, in his old-age, the Old Goat, the Master manipulator had forgotten to hold on to it. There was a small, two to three centimetre-wide hole in the coloured panes of his window. Dumbledore sighed. It was going to be one hell of a year._

Harry was standing in his dreamscape, which was once again smoky. The In-Between, some may say. Between waking, and dreaming. He knew himself, and he could feel the Mask's intelligence imposed over his own. No, not _imposed_, more… _working in conjunction_ with his own mind. Harry could feel himself travelling, as it were, northwards, and, somehow, to Scotland. His view cleared, revealing the cave in which he'd met Sirius last year. There was still some chicken bones left that the rats hadn't taken yet. Harry idly wondered how they were doing. He'd be sure to tell Sirius when he saw him next. As Harry wondered why he was in the cave, he noticed, not without aid from the Mask, that there was a small, magical green aura around a small knobble at the back of the small secluded cave. As he peered closer, Harry could see that there was a small, cursive 'S' inscribed into it, slightly worn away with the slight exposure to nature. That, or it was a snake. Either way, Harry knew that it could very well lead into the castle, or even the Chamber of Secrets if he was lucky. As he was about to say the typically obvious password- 'Open' in Parseltongue- something hit him in the head from behind.

The young boy leaped around, searching for something that could hit a non-corporeal being such as he must be (he _was_ dreaming, guys). As he finally registered the fact the there was no one around, Harry noticed a small wooden stick on the floor near his feet. Not just any stick- it was the Deathstick- Dumbledore's wand.

_How did it get here, then? How the _fuck_ did it hit me_? Harry thought, as he bent over to pick it up. It seemed as if the wand had decided to be used by someone else for a while. The wand glowed, and shone throughout the cave. As the light gave way to the ambient light from outside, Harry was amazed. Instead of him holding a wand- as he expected- Harry was instead holding a large, metal gauntlet. _Only one_? Harry enthused, as he rolled it over in his hand. _This almost makes up for spoiling my nice little dream about a French Bunny and Smutgasm_… On the back of the gauntlet- which, surprisingly enough, was a black metal that seemed to glow with an inner light- was a triangle, which was split by a long line through the centre. Superimposed over this was a perfect circle that overlapped the edges by a fraction. The Gauntlet shimmered, and disappeared for a second. The piece of armour was so light, it felt to be the same weight as if he was still holding the wand. Harry understood- or rather, the Mask did. He would find this Gauntlet when he combined the set of Aetherion Fragments. Harry felt a sort of… questioning vibe emanating from the Mask. Did he want to go back now, and stop this weird semi-physical wild-goose chase?

Or did he want to sleep, and wake once more?

Harry groaned into his pillow. His bed was too comfy to get up, but he knew that Aunt Petunia would be calling for him soon. _Wait a second… _comfy?_ When did my bed start to get _comfy? Harry sat up fast enough to send the blood away from his head, which resulted in an uncomfortable problem. He often awoke with this, but really didn't fancy having a wank in some French noble's home. Harry looked around at the metallic walls of the Inheritance Chamber. The walls- although black- illuminated the room, showing the small bed Harry was on, a cabinet stuffed to the brim with food anyone would salivate over, several Muggle exercise machines like the ones in the Dursley's basement, a potions rack stocked with various green and yellow potions and a bookshelf, sitting completely empty. The room was larger than his own at Number Four Privet Drive, but not too large for his tastes, either.

The green-eyed boy slowly stood, suddenly feeling like a stranger in someone else's body. Looking down, Harry shouted in surprise. His body was different! Not vastly, but enough to feel weird. His arms were no longer emaciated sticks- they held some muscle, willowy and rope-like. His stomach no longer showed his hip-bones and his ribs didn't threaten to break his skin. _This is the kind of body Lavender salivates over_, Harry thought with a grin on his face. He knew it had something to do with the room. Jacques said it was prepared for his inheritance. Therefore, this change must be part of it. The changes came with a price, however- Harry now truly understood what it felt like to be hungry!

He ran over to the food cabinet to find it stocked in protein bars, high-calorie foods and a fuck-ton of veggies. The rack of potions stood next to it with a note on it:

_Harry, while you are proceeding through your Magia Mutatio, you need to exercise a LOT. This room was created to warp time around its inhabitant- you. You will experience vivid visions depicting your future, possibly many per 'night'. The room will offer more training options when you can physically take it- for instance, right now, not even your friend Dobby would trust you with a sword! The Potters were once the epitome of the Warrior-Mage caste- and now you will be too. The magic bindings laid upon you by Dumbledore will degenerate once your body can cope with the fantastic excess of magic that will be running through your veins- so the more you exercise you do increasing your fitness, the more magic you will be able to use. The library provided is to help along your stunted education- there are books on Veela that I assure you would be a good idea to read if you are to survive my daughter. The core subjects are covered in detail, but I would advise against anything Divination- it's useless if you're not a Seer._

_I will see you tomorrow in my time, no idea how long it will take for you to be 'released'. Please, Harry, this is not a prison sentence- if you didn't stay in that room, your magic would destroy more than the Hiroshima bomb. Oh, and there are Muggle books, too, should you feel the need to increase your worldly knowledge._

_Jacques Delacour_

_P.S. I will have a small present for you when you return_

It was the thirty-third day of his Magia Mutatio. Harry had been exercising every morning, afternoon and night, often whilst reading one of the supplied books- it turned out that the bookshelf was a sort of access point to a vast library with hundreds of thousands of books. Muggle books on the sciences, which he hadn't studied in four years, mathematics- which he found extraordinarily useful in conjunction with Arithmancy- history (both the Muggle and the wizarding versions), Geography, again, both Muggle and wizard varieties, and a whole host of obscure magical spellbooks that Harry doubted could be found anywhere else.

He'd been steadily working his way through the potions regimen that Jacques had laid out for him to follow- the green to ensure his malnutrition was corrected properly, and the yellow to correct his bone structure- although, according to his own studies amongst healing spells- including diagnostic spells- his bones were super-dense and covered in metal. Harry knew about the metal, of course, but the fact that his _actual_ bones were denser than the metal even meant something more- he was different to other wizards, and obviously humankind in general. The two potions combined, when mixed, had another effect- they read what Harry hypothesised to be his DNA, and attempted to correct any differences. It would obviously only work while he was young, and there was a large consensus between readings- obviously, his DNA mutated over time. Harry had noticeably grown over the month he'd been training. He had marked his height on the ground, bare feet to the wall. This way, his back would always be a certain length- no inaccurate measurements.

His studies had taken him from secondary-school level sciences to beyond A-Level standards. His history and geography were even further- he could remember every battle, every death, and every single important person to any specific time period in Europe from now until the tenth century. He knew he was lucky- he had access to the unofficial records of history- his ancient latent wizarding ancestor, Alta_ï_r Ibn-La'Ahad, had written many tomes on the subject, and had stressed that there was a hidden history that was too gory to reveal to the public at large. Templars, the warrior-monks of old, the men who devastated the battlefield during the Crusades, carried on to exist even after their usefulness had expired- they believed that the masses should be sheparded into certain beliefs. Free will was an illusion, they held. The tomes were later edited by another descendent of Altaïr- Ezio Auditore. He had written that the Templars had lasted well into the mid-fifteenth century, fighting tooth and nail to control the world's populace. Ezio had found out, later in his life, that he and Altaïr were descended from the Ones Who Came Before- the Precursors. Every so often in their lineage, the Precursors had attracted someone of their line, and given them a child. The latent magical blood was strong in their veins. They were the gods of old, who were slowly dying. They had an agenda, however.

Ezio also wrote of his struggle against the Templar Order, lead as it was by Rodrigo Borgia, and then his son César Borgia. Ezio killed them both, among many hundreds of lesser Templar men. There was much more recent entry to the ancestral diary, however- a certain Desmond Miles had saved the entire world from certain destruction. The latent magical powers of the Assassins had led to certain obscure abilities- being able to hear a conversation from a good fifteen metres away, having stronger muscles and grip, far better eyesight, far better hand-eye co-ordination, mild metamorphmagus abilities, even being faster and stronger than the average human. Some Assassins had even shown higher brain functions such as a natural understanding of certain processes, and having an improved immune system.

Harry found the Assassin-Templar histories vitally interesting. His ancestors had eventually married into a magical family- the Peverells, but had had many Squib children who then grew up as Assassins. Desmond Miles was one, and so was Ezio. Harry realised that he would be able to train himself to attain these abilities, sometime in the future. His physical training was kicked up a notch to try to attain these abilities. He didn't leave his magical and Muggle studies behind- oh no! Harry was coping with less sleep now, reading as much as he could while running at full sprint, while rowing, while bench-pressing, even while doing squats. He absorbed Muggle science, books on weapons training and martial arts. Harry practiced these two together and separately, often using advanced conjuration to make a semi-sentient dummy, and then proceeding to shoot the thing so full of lead I flopped to the floor. Once there, Harry could manipulate any pressure point he wanted, just as the Dim Mak and Muay Thai videos and books showed. His progress was growing exponentially. The room was all Harry knew- he didn't think about him aging, and time not passing outside- knowledge was all he had, knowledge, magic and the arts of Death.

Harry was gradually allowed more facilities to train himself- a potions lab, with gradually more complex ingredients, a rune carving set and blocks of various woods and metals, even a TV set with a couple of different games consoles and a DVD player. Harry was loving the Muggle tech- in this room, where his magic was absorbed before it interacted with something, he could carve various runes onto the tech, therefore giving them certain abilities. One rune set Harry had devised allowed the tech to function without any electricity- his hypothesis that magic was actually a physical force of nature- like gravity- was looking more likely by the day. This also meant that Muggles would discover it within a matter of centuries- no more Statute of Secrecy. No more separate worlds. Harry knew that Muddledom was concerned with the lack of renewable energy, so he began to mess around with a dynamo and a small piece of repelling magic- with an unbreakable rune, and heat, sound and light absorption, the dynamo made enough electricity to power London on a daily basis. It didn't even take that long to make.

Harry, for the first time in a year, had thought about the outside world. He knew that he needed to get back- if he was too old, his friends wouldn't believe it was him in this body. And what a body it was! Harry was pleased with his progress. Due to the high protein, high carbohydrate foods and the nutrient potions, his physique had dramatically changed- He had a well-formed chest and abdomen, not muscle-bound, but he knew it hid his strength- Harry's Precursor ancestors had a key part in that. His legs were no longer rake-thin- they held a vast amount of power. He could run for hours and only be slightly tired, shaky and out of breath. He knew that if he came back from the summer holidays completely ripped, someone would question it. The problem was, Harry could still feel a lot of his magic still bound to his soul. He suddenly thought- what if it was not the physical training that mattered, but the _magical_? Harry had neglected the magical side slightly, due to seeing himself as physically weak.

There were more spellbooks than any other genre in the library, and Harry had barely scratched the surface. He resolved to put his all into just maintaining his fitness, and immersing himself in magic.

**A/N:** So, I may have lied… about not liking the way this was going :) too much love for Gary-Stu. Reading through this again, I realise that my education as a Biology A-Level student has rubbed off on my background mind. No apologies. This could be considered a filler chapter, but until HP comes into the majority of the super-duper-ness, watevah m8

To those leaving the massive, one-shot length reviews, I love you, and am heartily taking your opinions into account. Those who don't allow PM, well, I won't answer you back. So there.

SaHFF


	6. Chapter 6- TRAINING

Disclaimer: If ye know of Harry Potter, then ye know I don't own it- I'm male. Seemplz.

**The Bloke**- I will endeavour to finish this and the sequel before I die a young and fulfilled death, in which I go out strangling Thor with Dobby's socks.

**Sirius009**- You're right- that was an amateur transition, if not retarded. Edits will be made later, after completion (unless they're completely horrific).

**TRAINING**

**(A/N)** This is definitely heading down the 'Gary-Stu' corridor, but in the interest of having a badass HP, what can I say? I understand that some readers are concerned with the 'planned' Game of Thrones sequel. To be honest, you'd have to tie me up and set me to work in a sweat shop before I stopped this fic! I have eighteen chapters written at this point in time (including published ones), and as the summer holidays approach, I find myself with FECK TONNES OF TIME. Ergo, more fic.

* * *

_There were more spellbooks than any other genre in the library, and Harry had barely scratched the surface. He resolved to put his all into just maintaining his fitness, and immersing himself in magic._

Harry was tearing through spellbooks by the dozens each day, researching new rune sets, how to improve his casting, his accuracy, and the force he put into each spell. He spent a considerable time developing spell chains- a series of curses, charms, spells and even certain long-range martial art moves. These he memorised, and dedicated to certain situations, building a repertoire of situational strategies. Harry devised ways of getting rune magic to work with specific types of muggle technology, to make some explosions larger, or more focused, maybe dependant on what he wanted. He didn't just learn old spells or runes. He made new ones. With his continued advancements in Arithmancy, Harry had begun to develop new glyphs (arguably, he re-discovered old ones) that held elemental magic, as well as ethereal. His potions began to branch into the experimental- he finally found a book that depicted all known ingredients- rare and common- and their properties, reactions with the other ingredients etc. His studies into muggle chemistry had helped enormously. He knew from his reading that mere wand movements and speech patterns did not constitute a spell- it was the will of the user, linked to their magic. Their focus and ease of doing this was reflected in the effect of the spell. Trying to reduce wand movements and leaving out the speech component took nearly a month to perfect, but now Harry just didn't bother using either.

The library index- the tome that recorded which books had been learned from, with suggestions, useful areas, areas to avoid for now, locked areas of genres that were too advanced- had begun to 'suggest' the rarer books for Harry to read- Dark Grimoires written by long-dead Dark Lords and Ladies with curses, jinxes and hexes that not even the Weasley twins would know, Light Tomes that had healing magic that had gone un-used in centuries, nearly millennia. Harry was barely sleeping once in a week now, and he barely noticed. The weeks were flying by, and Harry was given new things by the room. A small computer desktop that somehow connected to the internet- there was so much there that wasn't written in books, it was insane! He had to be careful, though- some things were jokes, posed as knowledge- like blue waffle. Harry was disgusted when he found out it was an infected, bruised woman's privates. He was looking forward to blueberry waffles, but no!

Finally, something happened that completely threw Harry. Two books, both bound in brown leather, with gold leaf embossing the covers had appeared when he slept one night. One had a 'v' on it, obviously symbolising Dark, and the other a '^', symbolising Light. Opening the first book, Harry read the title: "Legilimency- Offensive Mind Arts and Their Application". The second seemed to be the opposite: "Occlumency- Defensive Mind Arts and Their Application". Harry was interested- his dreams were sometimes infested with weird visions of a black tiled corridor, with one door at the end. He could tell that the dream was not his- he'd never had recurring dreams about doors, mainly girls. The books would help him to defend his mind, and he may even need the offence later.

* * *

By Harry's calculations, he had spent nearly two years in the room. Two years of intensive study, information absorption, invention, and physical training. He knew the highest levels of offensive physical combat known to mankind, he could run miles without breaking a sweat at a full-out sprint, he could jump higher, move faster, lift more, see better, and cast magic for longer than any other wizard alive. His magic was under his full control- but he _still_ didn't have access to all of it- the Occlumency meditation had led him to his core, where he had shored up the cracks until he could break them himself. His mindscape was, admittedly, terrifying. A large, white plain, with a black sky. No sun, no stars, no wind, no nothing.

He had fixed that, of course. It now resembled the rolling hills of the countryside around Hogwarts, with trees, long waving grass bending in the wind; a cool breeze stirred wispy clouds now and again. Every blade of grass was something locked away. Each field, every paddock, was an area of memory, of learning, of experiences that Harry had coded into his mind. From what he knew of Desmond Mile's writings, his memories were somehow coded into his DNA- if he locked his knowledge into it, his descendants were capable of accessing it when they came of age. Anyone who didn't have a password would be destroyed- all of the landscapes Harry had built would recede into the quarantine, and a firestorm so fierce it melted rock and metal with ease would sweep through. Every little hole a shoot of grass had crept from would eject poisonous gasses, every air molecule would be warded away from them. A glacial ice-freeze would ensue, freezing all left behind. Earthquakes, hurricanes, eruptions, you name it, the trespasser's probe- or, if they were stupid enough, their actual consciousness- would be eviscerated. This was all secondary, however. The defences to get through just to enter his mindscape would stop almost any intruder. Perhaps the Precursors would be able to break though… Eventually. His walls were not vertical. Nor had he buried his mind in a hole. A dome, so huge, it defied language's attempts of description. All made of the same metal that soaked up his magic, and provided an unbreakable wall even against the very best Harry could offer.

Harry knew that, with the coming year, Malfoy would be unendingly arrogant. So, he thought to implement something of a vice of his- music. He listened to it, if it was in games, films, on the computer, CDs, anything- he loved it. It didn't even matter what kind, really. But, to calm him down, Harry thought of one track he'd heard somewhere. Just a piano, playing a slow, mournful tune. A couple of chords, two bars. A tinkle of a higher note. A klaxon, from a keyboard. Drums. It jerked him out of any funk he worked his way into, and calmed him when he was angry.

The problem was, he needed someone to test his defences against, so he had to leave the safety of the room. _Soon_, Harry thought, _soon I'll leave and be ready for what Voldemort will throw at me!_ Harry grinned ferally in anticipation.

* * *

There was a note upon his pillow one day, after another bout of meditation- his sleep pattern was so infrequent now, he made up for it with meditation. Jacques had left him a note, to be released when the room thought he was ready.

_Harry, there are some things you need to take care of while you are still in the room-namely, your emancipation, your monetary and worldly inheritances, and your future. To start with the last one, it's not too late to change your electives- I know you will have read every book in there- it's in your blood! You could probably set up a couple of revision groups at Hogwarts, I don't know why they don't do them! Your parents- even the non-biological, as it were- left you everything they had. Sirius will leave everything but a small percentage to you, and once you kill Voldemort, you will have the Conqueror's Rights- anything he owned, will be yours. You will have _vast_ amounts of gold at your disposal, companies that have been dormant for fifteen years will re-emerge into the market, technologies will race forwards once again, and the world will start to be a better place. You will need to sign certain papers stating that you are a legal adult, because, by the time you are out of the room, you should be seventeen. Then, you can have your present I mentioned to you all those months ago._

_Sincerely, Jacques Delacour_

* * *

The weapon rack rattled suddenly, as if something heavy had hit it. There, right beside the now-dull sword (it had been constantly repaired since his arrival), was a series of larger, heavier weapons. This room was just full of surprises! The weapons consisted of a large warhammer, with the head easily twice the size of Harry's own, a greatsword slightly shorter than Harry's current height of six and a half feet with a large triple fuller running down the centre of the blade. A long spear, taller than Harry was by an easy three feet, tipped with a leaf-shaped head inscribed with tiny runes all over its surface; a series of smaller, one-handed weapons presented themselves on another rack. A dagger and a longsword, two war-axes, a hammer, and two _very_ special items- hand-scythes.

For most of these weapons, learning to use them would take no longer than a couple of days each- the spear was similar to the bō staff of Japan, the war-axes were somewhat similar to swords, Harry supposed. The greatsword, however. Something that much longer and heavier could only use a different style- one he'd have to develop. Harry sighed, _I guess I'll have to train more._ If Harry had looked, there was a small tin trunk lying slightly hidden next to the new rack.

* * *

It was coming close to Harry's third year in the room, and when he could leave to sign his emancipation. He'd trained with the new weapons; he'd learnt their intricacies and their weaknesses. He'd broken many of them into shards when fighting the increasingly difficult mannequins he conjured. He used the greatsword most often- he was quite happy when he found out he could wield it easily with one hand. The same went for the warhammer- although it looked mind-numbingly heavy, it weighed but a few kilograms- nothing to a man used to lifting a thousand at a time. Harry was keen to implement his next training task- using both of the hand-scythes. _Oh my God- I can't wait! What if I run around shouting things like '_I am Death- fear me!_' Haha! That'd put the frighteners on Dumbledore!_ Harry thought savagely one day. He knew, however, that the style of fighting that they required ensured that he needed to know where all parts of his body were _at all times_. Fast movements, even for him, would make up the bulk of his repertoire. But, before then, Harry knew he needed to learn to combine the other weapons' attacks into chains that would go with his spell chains in his personal tome- his mind. He made a record of which situations suited which attacks. Which ones were showy, which were damaging, which were designed to intimidate and inspire. His use of the heavy weapons in a single-handed way still allowed easy integration with the spell chains. He knew that the scythes would be his hardest challenge yet- he had managed to carve many scars into his arms, legs, back and chest as the training wore on. They were all superficial, but Harry liked them- they spoke to him of why he was doing this- plus, they didn't detract from his new 'image'. He was aware, now, that he was too introverted at Hogwarts. He needed to get out there, and make some new friends. Maybe even have several girlfriends.

He stopped his greatsword training, shutting down the mannequin. This one had lasted nearly seven hours before wearing out. He picked it up, and laid it out on a nearby table top. The room, he idly noticed, had expanded again. The mannequin was in terrible nick, to be honest. The arms were a mass of notched wood, the legs were even worse- not even fit for matchsticks. Harry almost felt sad for destroying it again and again- he could sympathise with the thing, to a certain degree. He knew that he had denied the mannequin pain, denied it memories beyond the match, even stopped any form of emotion. And yet the thing was like him- forged to be a weapon, not cared about until the last moment. Harry briefly wondered what it would be like to grant it animation. Sure, necromancy was a Dark Art, but this mannequin deserved a life more than some evil bastard who'd killed for a living. He made his mind up- he'd find a horcrux, and strip the soul inside to the bare essentials. He'd encase it in the mannequin- after some serious over-hauling, obviously- and build it from the ground up. He wouldn't lie to it what it was, but he wouldn't treat it like less than human. He smiled, as he thought of the friend he may have in the future.

As Harry wiped his forehead of the slight layer of sweat- the mannequin was _that_ good- he leaned on the heavy weapon rack. Of course, if it had been secured to the floor, it would've been fine. It wasn't.

"Whoa!" _Crash!_ Harry slipped straight past the rack and into a tin trunk, much like they used in the army to store their weapons. _Interesting_, thought Harry, as he lay with his nose not two feet away from it, _it's a weapons locker! Why did I not see this before?_ He was confused. His eyes slipped off of the trunk, and he promptly started to forget the box. Then, his Occlumency kicked in, and his eyes snapped back. The _box_! Its hold broken, Harry thought he understood. If his mind wasn't strong enough to cope with Occlumency, then maybe, what was in this box was too dangerous for someone without it. Harry leant over slightly, eager to see what was inside.

* * *

(A/N: 'Leaving Earth' Mass Effect 3 OST)


	7. Chapter 7- WITH GREAT POWER

Disclaimer: If ye know of Harry Potter, then ye know I don't own it- I'm male. Seemplz.

I'd like to thank '**Emissary of Shadow'** for the glowing review! Let me go and write some more. _Then_ start the joy-puke parade ;D

**Professor I.P. Freely**: You, my good friend, bolster the ego :D

**The Bloke**: Your point is, of course, well made and succinct. Plus, I've had the same experience. But, with no Beta, I'd like to think I'm doing quite well, eh?

**WITH GREAT POWER COME GREAT RESPONSIBILITY**

_If his mind hadn't been strong enough to cope with Occlumency, then maybe, what was in this box was too dangerous for someone without it. Harry leant over slightly, eager to see what was inside._

As it happened, there was another note in the box. This one was from someone else, however.

_To whomsoever shall receive this box, and have the superior skills to see it, I leave my only legacy- death. These items have been in my possession for far too many years, it is now your turn. Use them wisely, and with great respect. As someone long ago once said:_

_**With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility**_

_Charlus Potter,_

_Lord Potter, Duke of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff._

_Duke of Mercia, Azkaban, Hogwarts._

_Farmer's Son, and Warrior of Honour._

Harry sat back on his heels, and whistled. This man must have been related to him, then! Harry set aside the note, and picked up the large box. It was heavy, even for Harry. He dumped the trunk on the table and set about rummaging through the thing. It was useless. There was too much stuff in the magically-expanded space- he'd have to lay it all out. He set about taking things out one at a time, and examining them. First out was a helmet, made of iron that had rusted through in places. On the side were the initials CWP. Next was a notebook. Harry flicked through and saw several maps of eastern France, what looked like lines of advancement- enemy and allied- and troop estimations. After the notebook, was a hell of a lot of dirt. Sifting through the trunk, Harry thought of another way to do it. "**Accio soil**!" Suddenly, a lot of earth flew out of the trunk and whipped around Harry until the sods of grass and such had calmed down. A quick cleanliness charm, and it was gone. Below all of that, was a trunk rather like this one. Hoisting it out, Harry noticed it seemed to be the main part of the weight of the trunk.

Setting it down next to the first trunk, Harry popped open the lock. Inside were row upon row of guns- the latest models having come out only seventeen years ago- when he was born. Ammunition, stands, there was nearly everything he needed now, to be a perfect ranged fighter! Even most martial artists couldn't avoid a spray of bullets over a wide area. The bullets were too fast for a shield spell to be erected fast enough, and most wards couldn't take direct hits from high kinetic force- hence the use of bombs in WWII due to Grindelwald knowing that wizards were vulnerable to modern technologies. The ammunition canisters were protected from heat by rudimentary runes, but that was all. No customisation at all. No scopes, no laser sights, no extended mags, no grenade launcher slung underneath the barrel, nothing. There were hundreds of types of revolvers, pistols, rifles, machineguns and other, weirder guns. Like a harpoon gun. _When the fuck would that even be useful?_ Harry thought, as he trawled through the remaining guns that hadn't been sorted. Several guns looked really weird- like they hadn't been designed by humans. All hard angles and others all curves. The angular one was a long rifle, with a stock that looked like it could break your shoulder. The curvy one seemed to be a shotgun- one that actually had small runes written in out of the way places. Harry knew he'd have fun making rune sets for these things. But, first things first, he needed to start firing and getting his hand in.

* * *

Three years to the day, Harry had stumbled into the room and passed out. He knew that it was time to leave. His bindings had worn down to nothing the night before, atomising everything in the room that wasn't protected. Only the weapons, the books, and the potions had survived, besides the mannequin. Harry was glad that the permanent animation spell he'd used allowed the mannequin to absorb so much damage- he'd be going through them at vast speeds, otherwise. He had to practice how to under-power his spells at school, or people (i.e. Dumbledore) would notice something wrong. Harry packed all of the kit he had acquired through the room into the tin trunk, and looked around. He then started to disassemble the room. The plates of black metal went into his trunk, shrunken. The flooring, which was made of the same stuff, went up after. There was no trace of the room left except a large natural cave and pool deep underground. Then, Harry lifted the trunk in one hand and proceeded back up the steps to the Delacour manor.

* * *

The long stone steps, ascending back into the world that was driven by time, were exactly as they had been three years ago- because here, no time had passed. At all. It took Harry no time to remember the way to Jacques' study, to which he then went. On the way there, Harry stopped in the entrance hall once more. This time, he noticed the portraits hanging on the walls. To the left of the central staircase heading up to the first floor was a small but beautiful frame, with brown and green leaves decorating the outside. The portrait was one of four men. They seemed to be laughing away, completely care-free, sitting around a small picnic table in a park. The first was obviously Harry's dad, James Potter, with his wind-ruffled hair. The second could only have been Sirius Black, his godfather, with the runic tattoos standing out against his thin white sleeveless top. The third was Remus Lupin, howling like a wolf with laughter, looking younger than Harry had ever seen him. The fourth, was not Peter Pettigrew. It was Jacques Delacour, a lot younger, but one or two years older than the others. He had his arm draped over Remus' shoulder, holding himself up amidst the gales of hilarity. All three raised a drink, and drained their cups. They hoisted them to Harry, and winked.

The approval in his father's eyes, as if he _knew_ of Harry's fast learning… Harry smiled, and saluted the foursome, and continued up the stairs. Meanwhile, he updated his personal mindscape to include that painting- in the meadow amongst his happiest memories, Harry set a picnic table, and the four men. _A never-empty bottle of firewhisky should keep them happy_, Harry thought. He stood in front of Jacques' door about to knock, when he heard a slight snore from inside. He smiled slightly. _I'll leave him to his rest. I only just left him, anyways_.

That left Harry to roam the halls of Delacour Manor for the night. Perhaps he'd visit their library, and find a good sci-fi. Jacques struck him as the kind of man to cater to all needs and interests. The corridors of the manor house were quiet as Harry strode through the halls, silent as a ghostly mouse. The occasional wall sconce was lit to illuminate the way through the hallways. The floorboards were hard and cold beneath Harry's feet as he plodded barefoot- Dudley's old trainers had long since kicked out. Actually, Harry could probably do with some new clothes. Down the hallway was an open door, with a small line of light spilling out from the ajar door. Interested, Harry swept forward and held himself next to the door jamb. Inside was the occasional sound of rustling cloth, and a page turning now and then. Harry grinned, as he realised he'd found the library. Deciding to test his skills for the first time, against an almost definitely non-offensive person.

Harry peeked around the jamb, and spotted a table on the other side of the large room. At the table was a young, silver-blonde girl that was curled up in a soft leather armchair. Harry knew that it was Gabrielle. He had only seen her (in real time) two, maybe three months ago, and yet she looked to have already grown. According to the books on sentient magical creatures he had studied, Veela matured at a much faster rate once adolescence kicked in. So when he'd saved her from the lake, and she looked like she was eight or nine… it was entirely possible that she was thirteen or fourteen. Fifteen if she was unlucky. Harry, as he was now, was seventeen years old. She wouldn't recognise him, he was sure. He snuck around the outside wall of the library, until he was directly behind her. Slowly stalking forwards, he considered his options. _Should I make her fall asleep, or scare the shot outta her? If I do, though… Jacques will end up waking up to 'rescue' his daughter!_ Decided, Harry raised his wand over the lip of the chair, and silently cast _**Sopor Somnia**_. The spell settled over the young girl, gradually leading her to a deep sleep in which she would dream vividly. Harry stood. He moved around the chair, seeing Gabrielle had truly fallen asleep. He took the book from her hands, noticing the title as he did so. 'I, Robot' by Isaac Asimov. _A bit advanced, isn't it_?

Flicking through, Harry noticed a very interesting aspect- one robot- 'Sonny'- had been given special abilities by his creator. He was independent. He could think. He could fear. He _understood_. Harry thought about the mannequin he'd kept from the room. _Maybe_…

Harry smiled. He placed a bookmark in the book, where Gabrielle had left it. He set the book down in her arms, noticing as he did so that she had a very pretty blush amongst the light brown freckles strewn across her nose. Harry lent in a bit, and tucked the younger girl's hair back behind her ear. Backing away, Harry then went to look at the bookshelf that the book had obviously come from. He picked them all up one by one, and flicked through the pages, resting every now and then when an interesting idea came up. Harry was particularly interested in teleportation, genetics, futuristic weapons, and what could collectively be called 'super powers'. The X-Men were favourites thus far, as well as Luke Skywalker from Star Wars. He knew that he could undertake a project as part of the Ancient Runes elective- maybe he could make one of these 'lightsaber' things?

It was approaching breakfast time when Harry put down the last book. He slipped it onto the bookshelf, just as he heard a faint rustling behind him. Whipping around, Harry saw Gabrielle sitting up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. As the girl lowered her hands, Harry dived behind a sofa that was standing between him and her. Gabrielle, not knowing Harry was in the room with her, started to speak to herself, as one does on occasion.

"Another dream about Harry… Papa said he would be here soon, but _how_ soon? The Bond cannot wait too long, Mamant said so!" Gabrielle huffed in frustration, as she moved to leave the library.

As soon as she was out of the room, Harry stood up and made his way to the doorway. Checking the coast was clear, he slid out of the still-ajar door and down the hallway, back to Jacques' office. Standing outside again, he knocked lightly, to announce his presence, and then entered.

* * *

While he had been gone, the curtains had been drawn and Jacques had been covered in a warm quilt. _It's time to have some fun!_ Harry grinned, as he slowly stepped over to the armchair that he had occupied nearly three years and six hours before, and sat down. Next, he pointed his wand at Jacques' hair, standing up as it was.

"**Flipendo**". Harry shot the revulsion jinx at the man's hair, causing it to flap and tug away from the man's head. The Frenchman gradually woke up to an annoying feeling- someone was tugging his hair.

"mmblmmll… Apolline, _stop_ please, I just wanna mmnlmmll…" Harry continued to cast the short-lasting spell until Jacques opened his eyes and looked around.

* * *

**A/N**: OK, OK, I'm sorry it's been three days late, I was at a party/ work… But, I may be writing more, which might mean more than one chapter for you guys… Maybe. As always, keep the reviews coming in! I'm amazed I've had 3,000 visits already. Some random schmuck in China was reading HPatBK, which I'm damn proud about!

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	8. Chapter 8- REVELATIONS II

Disclaimer: If ye know of Harry Potter, then ye know I don't own it- I'm male. Seemplz.

**REVELATIONS II **

_"__**Flipendo**__". Harry shot the revulsion jinx at the man's hair, causing it to flap and tug away from the man's head. The Frenchman gradually woke up to an annoying feeling- someone was tugging his hair. _

_"mmblmmll… Apolline, _stop_ please, I just wanna mmnlmmll…" Harry continued to cast the short-lasting spell until Jacques opened his eyes and looked around. _

"Harry! Is that you?! Good Lord, you look- um, _healthy_! God, I knew this would happen, but- Damn! You really went to town on yourself, didn't you Harry?" Harry grinned as he thought about the changes he had thoroughly logged happening to him. He had grown from the stunted five foot to a healthy six foot four, with his shoulders broadening a bit to accommodate his bulk. He was lucky that the metal coating his bones was basically a liquid. His arms had lengthened slightly, also accommodating his height, and had expanded in girth a bit with whipcord-thin ropy muscles. His hands still held their long fingers- devoted to catching the Snitch in Quidditch. His eyes had retained their characteristic slightly slanted, almond shape, and the Killing Curse-green irises, and he had long since lost his glasses. He kind of missed them, really. His cheeks, however, had hollowed out slightly, making him look more gaunt and serious, but leaving his nose to retain its previous prominence, and yet leaving a man who looked like nobility. Harry knew his back and stomach were now rigid and ropy, too- swinging a four hundred-kilo sword can do that. His hair, however, was tied back in a long ponytail that was held together by a piece of string. The long, jet-black locks flowed down to his waist, showing his forehead- and his scar- prominently. Harry knew he should not be afraid of he was. Instead of trying to stick to the shadows- and thereby allowing the wizarding public to make their own assumptions about him- he would step out into the light, and make them all wrong. He would show his new, improved self, and destroy anyone who decided they didn't like it. It was _his_, wasn't it? His own life, to do with as he liked.

"Yes, Monsieur Delacour. I… put myself through the grinder. I used everything that came through the room, until I was a master at it. I can defend my mind, and attack others'. I can brew the most complex potion to perfection, conjure behemoths to fight for me, charm muggle technology to do what I want; I have studied the past- hidden and official- and I can predict certain things in the future; I can alter my appearance at will, I can even do things that no other wizard has even managed to do. I have mastered the Dark Arts, and yet I am still myself. I can summon spirits of light and dark to fight for me, to give me advice, to train me even further. I can wield swords, spears, axes and hammers. I can use scythes better than even Death himself. I am a Warrior-Mage to the bone. All I need now, is my Armour. I am not capable of my full abilities without it. I know how to get it, but I need help. Will you help me, Jacques Delacour?"

Harry took a deep breath, concentrating on his poker face. He was pulling Jacques' leg with the dramatics of his speech, and yet every word he said was true to the last letter. He looked forward to his reaction.

Jacques Delacour stared at Harry, at the nonchalantly threatening figure. He could do all that? Jacques wondered how long the boy- no, _man_- had spent in the Room of True Self. He had helped to charm that beauty with the help of seven goblin Warders, and six other humans- the most accomplished warders and Curse-Breakers that human and goblinkind could offer. All had entered a pact to protect the secret of the Room from Voldemort. He knew it would do amazing things, but he didn't know how.

A prophecy had gathered them, saying that the Lightning One would need help to accomplish his mission. The fourteen had gathered in the French Alps, and surrounded the site with so many wards that the air shimmered. They had excavated the site, and built the Room of True Self.

The metal had been refined by the goblins, with the magical properties being donated by their magic and the magic of the mysterious ore. They had built a manor house atop the Room, to protect it from prying eyes. Then, the fourteen had taken a vow of silence, sworn upon the magic surrounding them, that should they mention the room or its location, or even the others in its construction, they would die. The magic had gone one better, however. If they were in the situation where they would tell, it would decide if they could tell or not. Until now, many had tried to weasel it out of the humans- what had they been up to for twenty years? The goblins had it harder. Many of them suffered for the unexplainable absence, and were deducted their statuses.

Jacques' heart swelled in pride at the work of so many. He knew that Harry would save them from the hidden agenda of Voldemort. At Jacques' eyes began to tear up, Harry's poker face slipped. He grinned like a madman, and then cackled in raucous laughter.

"Hahaha! Monsieur Delacour, I was being melodramatic! It's not really so cool as that. I practically spent three years reading, fighting Sonny, and making shit out of muggle tech, runes and potions ingredients. Oh, and my grandfather's gun chest decided to make an appearance, too." Jacques' smile and teary eyes didn't waver. In fact, they grew.

"Harry, when I found out you would have to be there for three years- at a minimum- I was worried that you may go insane from lack of contact with another person. I'm just so happy that you've come out of here on top! I- Just one second." Jacques wiped his eyes on his sleeves, and then looked up.

"Harry, you are important to me. You, as you stand now, are the result of my life's work. No, not the work you know about. I am one of seven humans who attracted the attention of beings called Valyrians- they had a prophet, who gave us a prophecy. A champion is needed, one who can unite the races of Earth under one banner, ready for the coming exodus into the stars. It is foretold that one called the Lightning One would step forth and strike down the champion of Chaos, the one who would see us rot here. They foretold that he would be a champion of the cause on every world he deigned to go to. He would journey through time and space, doing as he wished. There was an armband crafted to give the champion the kick-start he needed to overcome the meddling of his controller, and to give him an advantage over anyone he met.

Harry, you _are_ the Lightning One, soon to be the Black Knight of Dark Souls. Your metal protections are impervious to the physics described in muggle teachings. They protect your bones, your life-force. The prophet told me, four and half years ago, that the Philosopher's Stone- the one held at Hogwarts- would soon be destroyed by that fool Dumbledore without the consent of its owner. An agent stole the remnants of the Stone and brought it to me. Now, the only thing left to do now is to impregnate your very being with the alchemical properties of the stone. The point of the Stone was to allow Nicholas Flamel to carry on his own work- discovering the Lightning One. It allows the bearer to be rejuvenated should they become ill, or should they age more than they wish to, shed their years. The point is, Harry, is that you will need the Stone to continue your work. Do you understand? I'm offering this to you to ensure the continued existence of your line. There are some benefits, Harry!"

Harry was, understandably, gobsmacked. _So there really is true Seer somewhere…_, Harry thought. He pondered the effects of what would happen should he take the Stone. Never-ending life. Once it was part of him, there would probably be no going back. But… Harry could guess what would happen. If Voldemort really was holding back the races of Earth, then there would probably be some kind of tangled mess of a master plan involving Harry and death. He knew he'd need everything he could get to beat the crazy bastard.

Harry sighed. He knew that from now on, he'd never live a normal life. "What do I have to do?"

* * *

Jacques had explained everything to him. The Stone dust needed to be in his blood while Harry performed enough magic to exhaust him. Then, when his magic built back up, it would not notice the foreign magical signature of the Stone, accepting it as its own. The only problem was, there were several ways to have the Stone in his blood. Just pushing the dust into the blood stream would clog it up, killing him. If they performed a switching spell on it, then Harry would lose too much blood to be conscious to perform the magic. They were stumped, until Harry had an idea.

"Jacques, would the dust still be compatible if we injected it into my skin? Like a tattoo?" The older man looked up from his notebook, in which he had been writing down the ideas so far. He looked confused.

"What's a tattoo?"

"Oh! Well, basically, it's a kind of picture that is marked on the skin of someone with indelible ink. The ink is injected one spot at a time into a certain skin layer of the recipient, were it stays. There are all kinds of tattoos, and you can have them pretty much anywhere. People have them on their eyes, tongues, soles of their feet and palms. Sometimes they have some kind of symbolism to the recipient too." Jacques looked freaked out at this.

"You willingly inject ink into your skin? Doesn't that hurt, for muggles, I mean?"

"Well, sometimes, depending on where it is. But desensitising charms would take care of that sharpish." Harry grinned. He actually really like the idea of getting the Stone tattooed in. The runes he could use would help him even more! If they used a magical ink that never faded or something like that, then it would be fine for life. But, he would need to guard against damage, such as cuts or burns…

"Jacques, how would I guard the tattoo against damage? If it gets damaged, the Stone may stop working… I'll need to come up with some designs or something. Have you got any books on symbology and stuff? Or, have you got a computer I could use?" Jacques laughed at that last part. A computer! Really!

"Harry, muggle technology doesn't work around magic! You should know that!"

"Jacques, I've managed to make a way to stop the interference. There's so much information on the Internet, you'd be surprised. Hell, I could even sell the idea to all the Muggleborns out there, suffering withdrawal symptoms from their precious tech!" Jacques' eyes lit up.

"Harry! I forgot! You need to sign your emancipation papers before you take the Stone! I can't believe I forgot!" Jacques started rushing around his office, looking for something.

"Aha! Here it is!" He was holding up a yellow-white folder with the label 'Harry James Potter' on it. "This has all of the necessary papers for becoming a legal adult. When you take the Stone, you will probably want to revert to being fifteen to make your training more believable. And Harry- you won't lose any of your hard-fought fitness, you'll just shrink a bit and get a little bit more puppy fat around the edges." Jacques laid the folder on the table in front of Harry and opened it up. One sheet of parchment was inside, with all of the legal jargon you could never want to see. At the bottom was a small dotted line. Harry looked up.

"Have you got a pen?"

* * *

With the document signed, Harry stood up. He knew from his studies that the goblins of Gringotts would be sending a representative to accompany him to his family vault. Probably preceded by an owl.

"Jacques, I'll need some way of returning here in case things go south. Could you make me an emergency portkey for the return trip, and key me into the wards just in case? If there're too many Death Eaters, I want a line of escape. They still think I'm weak, don't forget."

"Oh, of course! The goblins will be coming soon to take you on a tour. Probably Ribshaker, who is the head of the Potter accounts. Come to think of it, didn't you say that Dumbledore was stealing your money? Planning on leaving you a pauper, no doubt. No money, no influence they say in the Wizengamot. Don't confront him about it, Harry. Go straight to Ragnok- he's an old friend. Head of Accounting at Gringotts. Don't forget that Goblins like to be flattered about their wealth and bloody-ness. And-"

Jacques was interrupted by an owl alighting on the windowsill of his study. The owl was small, yet very sturdy. As Jacques stood up to open the window, the owl flew off and then swooped into the now open window. The letter was dropped into Harry's hands, and then the owl was off back out of the window. Harry looked down at the envelope. It was sealed with a mouldy-looking wax, and the edges seemed to be slightly moth-eaten.

"How long have they kept this letter?

"Ah. That… That letter is- Harry, what do you know of your family?"

"They were purebloods as far back as the Founders and Merlin. Before that, there are occasional traces. I know that I'm descended from the Peverells. So is Voldemort, now I come to think about it. He used some Dark Arts to keep his soul tethered to this plane. He will still age, but he can make a new body every time his current one dies. Anyway, I don't know much besides the occasional name. Charlus Potter was Lord Potter, Duke of Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Hufflepuff. Duke of Old Mercia, Azkaban, and Hogwarts, too. I'll probably need to ask about that, right?"

"Yes, that's right. Except, you mother was descended maternally from Charlus, too. She only told your father the prophecy that Dumbledore believes in because Dumbledore broke the vow of silence he made with her. She loved your father, have no fear of that. Just consider this when you open that letter: No matter what, you need to focus on defeating Voldemort. Don't forget that you can live." With that piece of advice in mind, Harry gently broke the aged wax.

* * *

I've been so busy recently, that I had no time to update on Friday. So, have two chapters on me!

HPatBK

SaHFF


	9. Chapter 9- GOBLIN TURF

Disclaimer: If ye know of Harry Potter, then ye know I don't own it- I'm male. Seemplz.

**GOBLIN TURF**

_"…Just consider this when you open that letter: No matter what, you need to focus on defeating Voldemort. Don't forget that you can live." With that piece of advice in mind, Harry gently broke the aged wax._

The letter, obviously written many years ago, was crumbling at the edges. The ink had faded slightly, reminding Harry of the tattoo he needed research. The letter read (translated from the Old English):

_To whom it may concern,_

_This is a Notice of Inheritance for the descendant of one Charlus Potter. Inheritance depends upon receipt and use of the Potter War Chest. The Inheritor must present themselves to the Head of Gringotts Goblin Bank (any Branch) and state the Inheritance Reference Number (__**#0000049**__). The Inheritor must also be prepared to prove Inheritance. If the Inheritor is underage, this Notice will be delayed until recognised as 'of age' by the standing government._

_May your gold run ever freely,_

_Magnok the Money-Grabber,_

_Head of Gringotts Goblin Bank, Great Britain, Ireland and Scotland,_

_986 AD – 1066 AD_

Harry looked up from the missive, and frowned. He thought that, by the amount of modern guns in the… War Chest? That Charlus Potter was a somewhat recent ancestor. And yet, this was definitely a millennia old. He filed the thought away until later. He had an inheritance to collect. The envelope held a small slip of parchment stating the password for the portkey to work.

"Jacques, I'm probably going to do some shopping, OK? So I'll probably be all day. I need some good clothes. And somewhere to store my weapons where I can actually reach them. Is that Ok, sir? I can probably be back in time to properly introduce myself to your family?"

Jacques just shook his head, and gestured to the portkey. "Have fun, Harry. I'm off to breakfast."

* * *

Severus Snape woke from an uneasy sleep. The last thing he remembered was uttering his mindscape reset passphrase. His mind felt fuzzy, almost synonymous with the after-effects of possession. Severus picked himself up off the floor, groaning as he did so. Tucking his hair behind his ears, he felt an astonishing amount of grease and oil. What the hell? Had he forgotten to dread his hair, now that it was long enough?

His surroundings made themselves known. Potions room. Hogwarts. What had _happened to him?_

Oh.

Possession. Mindscape reset.

SHIT.

Severus Snape delved into his mindscape, searching for the events of the past who-knew-how-many-years. Detentions. Health and Safety flouted. Innumerable points taken from the other Houses. The Cultivating of Junior Death Eaters. What had he done? _Who_ had done this?

Out of nowhere, swam an image of Albus Dumbledore with his wand pointed at his forehead. Sev remembered. That was… a year after graduation. The day after his heartfelt apologies and changing of ways had finally been registered by Lily.

"NO! No no no! NOO! What did he _do?_ _DUMBLEDORE!_"

Severus Snape recalled the half-prophecy he'd relayed to Lord Voldemort.

Lily was dead. James was dead.

* * *

Harry took the portkey to Gringotts. Unlike the one he took a year ago to the Quidditch World Cup, this one merely sucked him through space into the Portkey Arrivals Room in Gringotts. He knew he was in Gringotts due to the sheer amount of goblins pointing spears at his face.

"Whoa, whoa! I come in peace! ƆƈƎƋŸŤƊ!" The last word, spoken in Gobbledegook, gave the goblins pause. One goblin, armed with a nasty-looking spear and garbed in brutish golden armour stepped forwards slightly.

"You speak our tongue? How have you come to know this tongue? How did you acquire a portkey to this place?!"

"Hey! I was sent a letter about my inheritance! And I learnt Gobbledegook from a book!" The lead goblin pulled up his spear and marched past Harry to the wall behind. On it was an arrivals board, showing the latest arrivals. The board showed Harry's portkey number on it. Number 0000001. The goblin slowly turned around, and looked at Harry through _very_ wide eyes. It turns out that goblins _don't_ have completely black eyes, after all.

"My Lord, I was not aware that that portkey still existed! If I had but known- Men! Stand down! Honour guard formation!" The goblins leapt to action, not even milling around in panic- two lines, one on either side of the door formed out of the crowd. Every goblin held a different style of spear, and wore different styles of armour. _They must forge their own_… Harry thought, thinking about the possibilities of using goblin forges to forge new weapons from the metal he had collected. He wondered if he could make more of it, actually. Anyway.

"My Lord, if you would care to follow me, I will lead you to the Head of Gringotts immediately!" Harry frowned. Goblins weren't usually this subservient. Harry followed the goblin, until he decided to ask why.

"Why are you being this subservient? What have I done to earn your respect?"

"The first ever portkey was given to our co-founder Charlus Potter to commemorate his help with founding our bank. His only wishes were for a letter to be conveyed to his heir, depending on unknown circumstances, when he appeared. Then, the man disappeared off of the face of the earth. Not a word. Owls returned, exhausted. For over one thousand years, nothing. And suddenly, you appear, sir. The heir of Gringotts' co-founder. Plus, we all know of your own exploits, my Lord. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, beaten off three times, is it now?" Harry nodded. "A basilisk, hundreds of Dementors, a troll? My Lord, not many have beaten a mountain troll at eleven years of age. You are worthy of praise, for your deeds alone. Your actions when given deference, such as now, show we are right- you may well usher in a new age for goblinkind and the other, so-called 'lesser races'. We're here, my Lord." The goblin showed Harry a small, unassuming door that looked to lead to a broom cupboard. Harry smirked, knowing this was a test in humility. Stepping forward, Harry turned the doorknob and stepped in, swiftly closing the door behind him.

* * *

Inside was normal-sized office. Not one of those massive executive-sized ones that take up a whole floor, but one with enough room to comfortably fit a medium-sized desk, two chairs on one side and a plush leather armchair on the other. On one side of the room was a small bookshelf, and on the other was an enchanted window showing a massive foundry glowing with heat. Sitting in the leather armchair behind the desk was a small, wizened goblin who looked older than even Dumbledore- and Dumbledore was approaching his one hundred and fifteenth birthday. The goblin seemed to be asleep, although Harry knew better- the pulse rate on the goblin's neck was too fast for slumber.

"Good morning, sir. I believe that I am to see you about my Inheritance?" The goblin cracked open one eye, and swiftly closed it again.

"Well, I can always take my money to the Swiss Gnomes?" Harry made an exaggerated movement of turning to leave, making sure to scrape the chair back a bit.

"Wait! Mr. Potter, I believe that you've passed our test! I merely wished to ensure your authenticity. Let us engage in the battle of business, yes?" The old goblin had straightened in his seat, and settled his hands in a steeple. Harry suddenly thought of the way in which Dumbledore sat.

"I was told to reference my Inheritance number… Number zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-four-nine?" Harry heard a _pop_ as a folder appeared atop the bookcase to his right. He was impressed at the system, truth be told. The folder levitated over to the Head of Gringotts. He opened the folder, and withdrew a wafer-thin piece of paper. Not the usual parchment, but paper. There, through the paper, Harry could see an emblem. A Griffin stood on one side of a kite shield, and on the other, a badger. Perched atop the shield was a raven. The shield was strangely split into seven horizontal stripes. Red, Blue, Yellow, Black, Bronze, Gold. The centre stripe was runed, with the runes for protection, life and death. The old goblin set the paper down, and then spoke:

"Mr. Potter, this is a strange inheritance- it is entirely optional! If you choose to accept, well, put it like this- Magical Britain could live on your annual interest alone. The account has been deactivated since Charlus Potter's death in 1066, but has acquired the interest as a personal savings vault would. The titles come with the inheritance, as well as the properties- Mercia, Azkaban and Hogwarts. You should be aware- the Dementors of Azkaban would wish you harm if you took their territory. Mr. Potter, I must ask- how did you suddenly become this man's heir? I know he blocked off the traditional father-son inheritance."

Harry sat and thought for a second. _Should I tell him how I became his heir_? _Or just be all mysterious_? Harry thought. _Although, I could do with some information from the Dementors…_ "Ragnok, do I look like the Harry Potter who was in the Daily Prophet every day of this last year? No, I think not. I am special, Ragnok. I am not entirely human. I have powers that people can only dream about. I have undergone intense training, just so that I can fulfil my destiny. I have need of funds to continue my training."

"I believe that the Potter family's inheritance was conveyed to you upon your eleventh birthday?"

"What? No! No I did not! I was given a trust vault, and that was all! And did you know that Dumbledore has been stealing from my personal vault for four years? Him and Mrs. Weasley have had control of my key, citing my inexperience in the wizarding world as a valid reason! Guess who decided to leave me out of it! Well, I want reparations, Ragnok! That money is everything my parents left me, AND THAT OLD GOAT HAS BEEN DIPPING HIS BALLS IN IT!" Harry quickly let fly the anger he'd kept in stock for three years fly, into the shocked face of the old goblin. He'd never been shouted at by a human before- only sneered. He could not believe that one of their vaults had been robbed by such an upstanding individual- actually, he could. Dumbledore came by once every six months to empty the vault, citing Harry's signature and wishes for more chocolates and lemon drops. The goblin snarled something in Gobbledegook.

At once, a goblin rushed into the room, spear at the ready. In rapid-fire Gobbledegook, he ordered the guard to retrieve the Potter Accounts Manager, Ribshaker. It took perhaps three minutes for the guard to return.

"Ah, Ribshaker, please, come in, come in! My appointment with Mr. Potter was just ending. Ribshaker, please, sit." The goblin's voice went ice-cold at the end. Ribshaker- the new goblin- sat down shakily. His eyes darted between Harry and the door. Very quickly, Harry walked to the door, and leaned against it. The symbolism was clear. Ribshaker was going nowhere.

"Ribshaker, it has been bought to my attention that the trust account under your control has been abused. Your thoughts?"

Ribshaker was shaking. The irony was not lost on Harry. "M- My king, I- Dumbledore- He, he-" Ragnok smiled.

"The fact that you will willingly sell him out means there really is no saving you, Ribshaker. Tell us what you know, and you will be let off most of the punishment, eh?" Ragnok suddenly hefted a giant mace onto the desk, and left it there. Right in front of Ribshaker's nose.

"My king, please-"

"NOW, Ribshaker. Or Mr. Potter gets free reign!" Harry grinned ferally as the goblin in question whipped around.

"ItookthemoneyandstoreditwiththeSwissGnomestoprotectitfromPotter'sbrashspendingandchangedtherecords!" Ribshaker expelled his guilt in one breath. Ragnok, however, was not pleased.

"You changed the records? The records that have not been touched since the founding of this bank? Do you realise what you have done?! We need to conduct audits, contract independent adjudicators to evaluate our findings- if this gets out, not even the Leprechauns would trust us with their gold!" Ragnok muttered to himself for a minute, until his eyes snapped into focus on the young goblin in front of him. The goblin had broken the highest goblin laws held up by the bank- he had both cheated a vault-owner, and changed the records. He knew what he had to do. He walked to the door, and called softy out.

"Guard, retrieve Ribshaker's mother. His sister. His daughter. Bring them here now, it is… a matter of dishonour." The old goblin hobbled back to his chair, and eased himself back into it. He looked icily at Ribshaker. The goblin was trembling in his seat.

"You know the rules, Ribshaker. The one who was affected by your misdeeds must claim the ownership of one member of your family. _After_ mating with them. I have decided that Mr. Potter was maligned more than the entirety of Gringotts, as some small mercy to your family. I allowed you this place of trust due to your grandmother's last wishes- I knew you were not the best, but I saved you from a life of the slave at the Forges. This is how you repay me. So, this is how it will go. Mr. Potter will test each of them, and then select his preference. The other two will then be sent to work at the Forge. You will be sent with them. If they choose to kill you, so be it. The stain on your family will go no further." Harry was shocked at the justice being done before him. He didn't want anyone to be slaves! No one deserved that existence- except maybe several of the Death Eaters.

"Now, hold on! Have you asked me what I want? Huh? NO! I don't want to shag some random goblins- I've got more refined tastes, thanks! And slavery is _wrong_! I thought that as a so-called 'Lesser-Race' you'd be against it! You enslave your own people! You may think it 'just' but it's not! Women are as much an equal as any man, and your treatment of your women suggests that you really _are_ barbaric! All I want is Dumbledore to be punished- _he_ forced Ribshaker to do this- did you ask how? Did he threaten to pass new legislation, or something else? Knowing Dumbledore, we can't tell. Ragnok, you astound me in your ignorance! Get _all_ of the details, and then pass judgment. Personally, I wonder at the speed with which he gave the answers. If you wouldn't mind, I would look into his mind and see his memories of fixing the records. Dumbledore could have adapted his memories, don't forget!" Harry stood with his back ramrod straight, still in front of the door. His arms crossed, his eyes blazing. The green irises shone in righteous anger. The muscles on Harry's arms stood out in tension as he held himself back. Having been treated as a slave by his relatives for so many years, he chafed at seeing other put through the same treatment. He could understand that some people deserved it- but as a punishment to the _family_ of the perpetrator? No. Harry wouldn't stand for that. He stalked forwards.

Grabbing the chair Ribshaker still sat on, Harry whipped it around to face him. Gripping each armrest, Harry leant over the small goblin. He stared deep into the creature's mind, looking for his secrets.

"**Legilimens**!"

* * *

Well, that is the loving close I give you for the bonus chapter. Have fun in the next week!

HPatBK

SaHFF

Inspirational Music of the Week: Walk Away by The Script

Film of the Week: Treasure Planet

Book of the Week: Necropolis by Dan Abnett


	10. Chapter 10- DENTISTRY

Disclaimer: If ye know of Harry Potter, then ye know I don't own it- I'm male. Seemplz.

**VAULT**

_Grabbing the chair Ribshaker still sat on, Harry whipped it around to face him. Gripping each armrest, Harry leant over the small goblin. He stared deep into the creature's mind, looking for his secrets._

_"__**Legilimens**__!"_

Harry stood in the mindscape of the defenceless goblin. It was a plain wasteland, just as his own had been. He looked around, until he saw a collection of rippling silvery strands. He flew towards it until he could see the occasional strand of memory float free. Harry reached out with his mind probe and searched for anything involving Dumbledore. The goblin, it seemed, did not think of Dumbledore until he had blurted out his confession- almost as if he didn't know who he was. Nor did he think of him after unless mentioned. _Strange_, Harry thought, _there should be the occasional flicker of memory- even if it's from hearing about the latest piece of news from a friend_… _Nothing_! There was a kind of over-lying tinge to the mindscape, as if there were threads linking to specific parts of the goblin's psyche. Some memories were cut short, as if by some external source, and one was completely foreign- the confession. Harry withdrew.

"Ragnok, you're a fool! This goblin has had his mind altered! Dumbledore replaced his memories with fakes! Ribshaker knew what Dumbledore was doing, but Dumbledore forced his mind into accepting it as necessary, and as his own idea. I know for a fact that Dumbledore has been paying my aunt to beat me and treat me like a slave. I'd be willing to bet that no money made it across the borders. All I wanted was to see if I could get my money back- I need to buy things, and that means I need money. I expect the family of Ribshaker will go free, and Ribshaker be taken to a mind healer to set him memories straight. I expected better of the goblins, Ragnok, after all I have read of them. I will give you the opportunity to erase the disgrace later. I know how important my inheritance is the British wizarding world, but I will gladly move my wealth to Switzerland if that is what it takes for it to be properly looked after. Now, shall we get back to our business? I believe you were asking how I came to be Charlus Potter's heir? Well, you don't deserve to know. I can tell you, however, that I will be accepting his inheritance. I get the feeling that I'll need it. Pass the paper."

Ragnok was still in shock as Harry took the inheritance notice form and signed it off with his usual scrawl. The old goblin looked to be fighting off heart failure. His mouth opened and closed like a fish, trying in vain to rectify the situation. In his own office, a human had taken charge and put him in his place. He didn't know what to do. He went along with it. The form flashed a dull flash, and then crumbled into dust. Ragnok collected himself, and then sat up straighter in his chair.

"The holdings and properties are included in the folder, Mr. Potter," Ragnok said weakly, "And all monetary and material wealth is written about in detail on the coversheet. Would Mr. Potter be willing to inspect his vaults? Perhaps he would enjoy the benefits of a Gringotts Moneybag? You will be able to access your vaults through it, and retrieve anything that fits through the neck of the bag- which is magically expandable." Ragnok was regaining his colour slightly, his green pallor alleviating slightly. He went on, "I am sure that Mr. Potter will accept my humble apologies for the incident, and that I will attempt to change. Both myself and the goblin laws. You are most certainly correct- we cry out against the slavery of our brethren, and yet we enslave our wrongdoers. Maybe it is time for change at last… Before you visit your vault, Mr. Potter, it would be good practice to adorn yourself with the deceased's ring. I will pursue the later Potter ring, once our audit is underway."

Harry looked up. A ring? One that belonged to Charlus? On the desk, besides the pile of dust from the form, was a small, long box that was slightly deeper than Harry's hand. He looked it over, and spotted a black burning phoenix engraved in one corner. He slowly leant forwards and picked up the small box. He slipped it into his pocket, keeping his hand on it.

"I will wear it once I am at the vault, Ragnok. Get someone to show me the way."

* * *

Harry stood in the atrium, waiting for the guide to take him to the vaults that were no longer used. The carts were a new contraption, that still did not extend to all vaults- only the ones in use- and these were reducing in number all the time. Eventually, Harry sensed someone behind him. Rather than turn around, Harry pretended to not notice anyone. He concentrated on his facial features, and altered them slightly. He chubbied his cheeks and furrowed his brow. His scar was covered in a layer of skin, and his hairline receded a bit. His lips also fattened slightly, whilst his eyes turned brown. A small cough caught his attention.

With due grace, Harry turned to look over his shoulder, to see a certain Lucius Malfoy. The man had seemingly walked into Gringotts, and forgotten to walk around Harry. The older man glowered at Harry's dismissive reaction, and stepped forwards once again. Harry could smell his breath. Somewhere crossed between a cane-toad and rotting teeth, Harry wondered if wizards knew about brushing teeth.

"Out of my way, imbecile! I'm here on appointment. Don't make me late to meet that wretch that calls himself the Goblin King!" Malfoy snarled. He honestly believed he was _so_ superior! Harry smirked, and then turned to fully face the man.

"And who are ye, to order me around, queenie? I don't really swing that way, if ye catch me meanin…" Malfoy's expression flushed in anger, and he drew his wand quickly.

"You dare! **F-**" Malfoy didn't get one syllable out of his mouth before Harry smashed his fist into Malfoy's chin. A small spurt of blood, and his lower lip was severed from his face. Harry looked down, and scooped up the offending appendage.

"Is this yours, sir? Shame…" He threw it down the hall, and out onto Diagon Alley. Meanwhile, Malfoy Sr. was practically shrieking in pain as he fought to stem the mild blood flow. Harry continued. "Next time, watch yer mouth around yer bet'ers, mate. They might not be as nice as me, see?" With that, Harry cannoned his other fist into Malfoy's stomach. The man doubled over, just in time to receive a colossal blast of knee-to-the-face. As the bleeding man crawled away over the floor, Harry swept up behind him and swiftly delivered a strong- even for him- kick to Malfoy's bollocks. They both popped under the sheer force, as Malfoy careened back onto Diagon Alley.

Satisfied, Harry waved his wand over the small bloodstain, and it vanished. He about-faced to see a goblin staring at him. Harry quickly reassembled his features, and greeted the goblin.

"Griphook, I presume? I remember you. Shall we go?" Harry waited for Griphook to lead the way. The way was similar to that of going to the normal vaults, except for one thing.

"Mr. Potter. You must jump down to the rooms below. If you are who you say you are, you will be recognised, and allowed safe landing. If not… Then I have to scrape yet another pancake off the floor." Harry stared at Griphook for a second, then turned to the ledge. He glanced over the edge. If this didn't work, he always had the emergency portkey.

He took a deep breath.

And tilted forwards, his arms spread-eagled on either side.

* * *

The air whipped past him, as Harry fell down through the tunnel. The sides looks like they'd been worn away by time, or maybe the occasional blast of hot air that he was experiencing. As he continued to fall, he moved faster and faster, until he could barely hear anything. Up ahead, was a large rippling wall of what looked like jelly. Harry recognised it as an old ward, one that was barely functioning. _Uh-oh_! Harry cannoned into the barrier at full force, blasting through it at terminal velocity. The weak barrier shattered, revealing the ground below. But not before recognising him as the heir.

As the ground careened towards him, Harry somersaulted around, and planted his feet into the floor hard enough to crack and splinter the solid stone beneath him. His knees absorbed the blow, and one hand hit the ground. Harry stood, looking around the cavern he was in. The walls were sculpted to form cavernous arches and soaring ceilings. Harry knew that he standing in a place that no one had stood in for nearly a millennia. There was the occasional pile of shattered bones.

Another gust of hot wind blasted through the vaults. Harry glanced around, looking for the source. He stood in the centre of the chamber and turned around, scouting every corner. Then, he scanned the ceiling. Nothing.

Harry moved forwards, wondering where Griphook was. The little blighter should be down here, guiding him! Suddenly, Harry felt a very soft drifting of air across his neck hair. Harry dived to the side just in time to avoid a massive blast of multi-coloured fire. He continued the roll into a forward dive, jumping into a full sprint to try and gain some cover. Whipping his wand out, he threw a transfiguration spell at the ground in front of him. A long wall of stone began to rise, and he dived over it just in time for the newest gout of flames to pass harmlessly overhead. The top of the wall started dripping as the heat began to melt the age-old stone.

"Shit! What is this thing? Dragons can't melt stone!" Harry conjured a mirror and tilted it over the edge of the rapidly cooling wall, but couldn't see anything. He tilted it around, looking everywhere, but nothing. No dragon, no one shooting flames at him. He stood up slowly, looking around. Suddenly, the air shimmered, revealing a massive dragon head. The tongue was not even a foot away from his face. The smell roiling out of the dragon's mouth would have killed a lesser man, no doubt- and the teeth could definitely do with some spring cleaning! Before the dragon reacted to Harry's presence any more, he quickly jabbed his wand into the throat of the dragon, and poured as much power as he could into his spell:

"**Stupefy**!"

The over-powered spell hit the unprotected flesh of the dragon's throat, knocking it out instantly. The massive beast fell slowly to the cavern floor, showing just how large the thing was. Harry had to say- it was easily larger than the Hungarian Horntail he'd out-flown in the Triwizard Tournament. The head was the last thing to drop to the ground, the large eyes closing slowly. The irises were startlingly gold, a deep burnished and glowing colour that sparked something in Harry as he watched the beast slowly drift off, fighting every step of the way. With a final huff, the beast was done.

Harry took a step back, and grew sad as he looked at the magnificent beast before him. Pitch black, with golden highlights strewn across its hide, the dragon was beautiful in an alien way- the gold looked so much like lightning, it was crazy. There were two large horns that sloped back from its brow, almost meeting behind its skull. The scales on its face were small, and slightly greyer in colouration compared to the rest. The snout had long-dried blood on it, and the tongue lolled out onto the stone floor.

The breath of the thing was disgusting, it reeked of gum disease and rotted meat. The teeth were longer than the Basilisk he'd fought in second year, and serrated on the backs, much like a dinosaur's. Now that Harry looked, he'd never read of this kind of dragon before. There were tubes in its mouth that Harry assumed were for fire. There were bones and eroded teeth along the gum line. There were spikes along the chin that formed a kind of ruff. The dragon's horns were so large at the base, Harry couldn't even fit both arms around it. _I bet they don't feed him a lot_, Harry thought morosely. He quickly came to a decision- he'd fix up the dragon as much as he could, while learning as much as he could about it.

Harry set about siphoning off the debris of past meals, neglecting to erect a bubblehead charm- if the gums started bleeding, Harry wanted to know. There was an astounding quantity of rotten meat caught in the teeth. He was _very_ careful to use his wand to vanish most of it- he didn't want any movement to hurt the dragon and wake it. After the bones and meat had been vanished, Harry set about cleaning and repairing the teeth. _This must've been constantly painful_, Harry thought, as he repaired the teeth nearer the back. He inspected each tooth before he did, though, to make sure he knew what to make them look like. Now he needed to get rid of the infection and swelling.

"**Petrificus Totallus**!" He immobilised the dragon to make sure it didn't snap his head off, and then set about cleaning the teeth with **scourgify**. This proceeded until all of the teeth had been cleaned and there wasn't any inflammation. A breath-freshening charm sorted out the remainder of the bad breath. Harry was pleased with the state of the dragon by then. A quick "**scourgify**" covered the beast's snout, and the rest of its gigantic hide. The dragon must be nearly a millennia old, considering its length. They were much like basilisks in that way. He inspected the scales on its slowly rising and dropping sides- the lightning-like gold colouration wasn't a line of scales, it was like an over-colour. Harry tapped a scale, to see if it was flexible or not. The scale was harder than anything he knew of! The metal coating his bones was different- it wasn't naturally occurring. It bent, yes, but he couldn't bend it much, even with his unbridled strength. The spikes that started at the base of the dragon's head grew steadily larger as they proceeded down its back, until the large flat leaf-shaped spike on it tail. The dragon was actually _very_ different to most dragons- nearly every dragon out there had six limbs- two to fly, two to walk (with aid from the wings). The only exception to this was the Hungarian Horntail- which used its wings as forelegs, and the Chinese Fireball that didn't have any wings. The hind legs were particularly powerful, probably to get into the sky. Harry plodded back to the front of the beast, suddenly unsure of how to escape its attacks. Once he released it… He'd deal with it, he was sure.

* * *

**A/N**: The reviews seem to be slacking, but the faves aren't! I'm so happy this is looking popular, makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside! Next update should be between the 15th and the 18th of August, 2012. Unless I die. Or lose a hand.


	11. Chapter 11- VAULT

Disclaimer: If ye know of Harry Potter, then ye know I don't own it- I'm male. Seemplz.

Supposedly it's illegal to respond to reviews here… And I don't want my first fic removed…

**VAULT**

_Harry plodded back to the front of the beast, suddenly unsure of how to escape its attacks. Once he released it… He'd deal with it, he was sure._

"**Enervate**!" The dragon immediately stirred, the immobilisation obviously only slowing it down. It stayed laying down, however, seemingly unwilling to move. Harry sidled up to its eye, and looked up into it. Even laying down, the eye was still above his eye-level! The golden iris rolled down to meet his gaze, holding it. The slitted pupil narrowed slightly, then returned to normal as it focused on his scar for a second. The dragon huffed, and blinked slowly like it was falling asleep. Quickly, Harry wondered how intelligent it was. Well, he knew how to find out!

"**Legillimens**!" Harry's mindprobe slipped into the mindscape of the beast before him, and he settled in a large, boiling hot desert.

* * *

Harry gasped, as his mind caught up to what he was seeing. He was in the mindscape of the dragon, but it was organised like his own! Harry scooped up a handful of sand, letting it flow between his fingers. He could feel the weight of centuries in each grain- each one held a memory. Behind him, was a small wadi, with little pebbles in the bottom. Lizards scarpered left and right, hunting or playing. Clouds drifted lonely in the sky, and, far-off in the distance, was a herd of could have been horses, amongst small tufts of desert savannah grasses. Suddenly, a cloud flitted over him, dousing him in darkness.

Twisting around, Harry met eyes with a colossal dragon. The dragon from the cavern! It leaned down even further, until its head rested upon the sandy cracked earth before him.

'_At long last, my Lord. You have come, as the Aged One told me, long, long ago. It has been an age since I last met a mortal man capable of surviving the Proving Fall. I have been neglected these past ten hundred years, my Lord. It would greatly please me if I was fed my fill once more, with the woolly sheep of your Mercian hills. It was a glorious time to wonder your vales, until the Aged One found me as small hatchling. He allowed me to grow, protecting me from those who deemed me as evil. I can once again begin to grow, my Lord. I am not of this world, of that I am sure. I hatched in a desert amongst __**fire and blood**__, many thousands of men lying dead and burning. Then, many lights. Many many lights ruptured the sky, and I was lying, cold, in a circle of stone. You, my Lord, smell of my home. Your aura reeks of it like I reeked of contagion. Please, my Lord! Take me away with you! Do not leave me to rot once more!_'

Harry sat down, back in his own mind once more. He released a terse breath as he considered what had just happened. _This is no ordinary dragon_! _Dragons can't think like that_! _ They don't talk my language_! Harry sat back on his heels as he wondered what he meant by 'a circle of stone'. Could Stonehenge be some kind of transport device to another world? Is that how he was supposed to continue his journey, after killing Voldemort and sorting out the structure of this world?

Harry pushed that from his mind, as the dragon before him lightly nudged him. Harry looked up, and into its eyes. '_My Lord, you are here for the Aged One's Vault, are you not? I will guide you, my Lord, if that is what you require?_' Harry nodded. '_Then climb up upon my horns, my Lord, and I shall take us there!_' Harry slowly stood. He could tell that the dragon was speaking inside his mind, but it still freaked him out. To have a beast as large as this treat you as a lord was… disturbing. He grasped the horn closest to him, and allowed himself to be dragged up by the rising dragon. He pulled himself easily above the flat spine just below the dragon's head, much like a seat on a motorbike. He watched on as the beast ambled down one avenue of the vaulted cavern, seemingly sanguine with the new way of things. Not half an hour ago, it had tried to roast him! As they travelled to the vault, Harry remembered the box given to him by Ragnok.

Taking it out of his pocket, the long box shone slightly in the light given off of Jupiter's lightning-cracked scales. The clasp on the front of the box was in the shape of a bolt of lightning being swallowed by a phoenix. Pulling the bolt up out of the bird's throat, Harry opened the container. Inside was an articulated full-finger ring, made of the same metal of the Room of True Self. Each section was etched with black runes surrounding a phoenix swallowing a lightning bolt. The runes were not just for decoration- they seemed to have a vampiric quality to them- they drank in magical energy. The last section ended in a sharp claw that had sharpness, pain, and the same vampiric runes etched into the edges. The ring was swirling with contained smoke and shadow, much like the Mask of Dark Souls did. Slipping the ring onto his right middle finger, he felt it heat up to an astonishing degree, and then re-size. The armoured ring looked awesome, and had no effect on grasping things, much to his relief. He didn't want to hurt anyone by accident.

The journey through the cavern took maybe five minutes, letting Harry get gradually used to the swaying motion of the dragon's head as it walked, and the novelty of sitting behind one's head. It took the emergence of a large stone wall to bring Harry out of his thoughts. The door was about as tall as the dragon, and wider by half. It was made of a dark marble, with bands of iron woven into it. At the centre, halfway up its length, was a handprint much like the one at the Delacour Manor. The dragon lowered its head slightly, allowing Harry access to the door. He placed his palm upon the door, and after three loud _clang_s, the panel upon which the handprint had rested was withdrawn. It looked as if the big door was ornamental- the real door was right here. Harry stood upon the dragon's forehead, and then jumped the ten feet into the new doorway. He turned.

"I don't really know what to think of this, but I guess, if you wait here, I'll be back soon. Oh, I never asked- what's your name, dragon? Mine is Harry."

'_The Aged One named me Jupiter, my Lord, after the lightning strikes of my scales. He thought it suitable, according to the old religions of this world. He talked about the honour and sincerity of my namesake. I hope that it pleases my Lord?_'

"It's your name, Jupiter. It's not for me to question it. I'll be back soon!" With that, Harry turned and walked down the black tunnel leading into the rock face.

* * *

The passage was long, and reeked of old stone and damp. It curved down in a tight helix until Harry was at the base of the doors. Then, it jinked until he faced away from it, and lead forwards for a short time. Harry could tell that he was no longer in the black tunnel, but in a massive open space. He thought for a moment, then capitulated.

"**Lumos Maxima**!"

The massive space in front of Harry was suddenly illuminated. Harry was starstruck, as he took in the vast lines of shelves before him. Entire rows of theses shelves seemed to hold black boxes of gold, silver and bronze- old-fashioned and nouveau Galleons, Sickles and Knuts. He nearly fainted as he considered that these boxes must also be enlarged on the onside to accommodate his vast wealth. To his right, on a small pedestal was an age-old scroll edged with dry, crumbling corners. On it was written the list of row names, and then shelf numbers in a table. The spaces next to the names were short descriptions of each unit's holdings- Galleons, Sickles, Knuts, Armour, Weapons, Metals, Books, Ingredients, Jewels, Miscellaneous. The list was longer, but Harry didn't fancy reading every page of the roll of parchment. There were hundreds of rows, each ten boxes high. Harry was still light-headed when he once again considered the riches held here. _I need a sack, not pockets_! Harry eyed the boxes with the metals. He desperately wanted to try his hand at forging, after reading so much about it. He wanted to make his own weapons suited to his build out of the metal he stripped from the Room of True Self. The ones he'd taken were a bit too unbalanced for his style- The hammer especially needed a bit of word to make it just right.

Harry wondered for a while amongst the boxes, dipping in here and there, until he came across one box marked 'Eggs'. He peeped inside. There were stacks of shelves, each cushioned to individually hold an egg. They had ripples of scales much like Jupiter, but each had a different 'design'- some had ripples of tone, others had lines, zig-zaggs, swirls, spirals, even some solid colours. He withdrew his head, making a note to come back later. He retreated back to exit, and then conjured a sack. He enchanted it with extension charms, and then began to scoop out boxes of coinage. He added the occasional book, too. At the end of it, he had five sacks of coins, books and the odd piece of metal ore. He hoisted them over his shoulder, took one last look around the vault, and then started the walk back to Jupiter.

* * *

Harry stood at the lip of the drop down to the cavern, but he couldn't see Jupiter. Then, he remembered that the dragon had been turning invisible earlier. _How's that even work, anyway_?

'_My Lord, welcome back. I was sleeping until you returned. Please, come down and I will allow you egress from my home of the last millennium._' At that, Harry once more jumped from a great height- this time only sixty feet. He once more landed on his feet, one hand planted on the stone for balance. He stood, and looked at Jupiter. The Dragon was still curled up, but this changed very quickly. The dragon uncurled into its full one hundred and twenty foot length. Harry then leapt up to his seat behind its crest, and it then ambled back to where Harry had entered. As Harry jumped off once more, he wondered how he would release Jupiter- the dragon would obviously starve if Harry left it here, as well as it being a bad reward for its loyalty and wealth of knowledge. There had to be another way out, rather than jumping or climbing back up the tunnel. Harry looked around, wondering about secret passageways.

'_My Lord, Do you wish to leave the way you came? If you do, I will understand, but… There is an easier way that takes you through the Aged One's storage of artefacts, and back to the Director of Gringotts' office…?_'

"That's brilliant, Jupiter! I was wondering if there was another way! You say that artefacts are stored there? What kinds?"

'_Many kinds, my Lord. Enchanted weapons, tools, art, famous jewels and diaries… Anything that the Aged One thought interesting. He did not deem them worthy of his vault, for anyone could use these if they bested me._'

"Right, then! And Jupiter- I'm taking you with me!"

* * *

**A/N**: Got my results back this week, and I'm proud to say I'm going back to Sixth Form College for my third year! Hooray! On the negative side, that means I'm going to have to put an extraordinary amount of work into school, meaning… you guessed it… slower updates. Judging by my attitude to school, I'm guessing another chapter every two weeks instead of one.

P.S. Anything you're concerned about, i.e. plotlines, characterisation, etc. then please review. Don't just sit and stew! (I'm a poet and I didn't know it!)

* * *

Inspirational Music of the Week: Rubber Lover by Marmaduke Duke

Film of the Week: Treasure Planet

Book of the Week: Ciaphas Cain, Hero of the Imperium (Warhammer 40,000) by Sandy Mitchell


	12. Chapter 12- TRUNKING

Disclaimer: If ye know of Harry Potter, then ye know I don't own it- I'm male. Seemplz.

**TRUNKING**

_"That's brilliant, Jupiter! I was wondering if there was another way! You say that artefacts are stored there? What kinds?"_

'Many kinds, my Lord. Enchanted weapons, tools, art, famous jewels and diaries… Anything that the Aged One thought interesting. He did not deem them worthy of his vault, for anyone could use these if they bested me.'

_"Right, then! And Jupiter- I'm taking you with me!"_

Harry walked along the secret tunnel towards Ragnok's study. As he approached the door, he heard a quiet exchange.

"Ragnok, I demand compensation! That man has prevented me from having another child! Not even the best of St. Mungos' staff could treat me! I demand to know who he is!"

Harry grinned as he heard Malfoy's dulcet tones. He quickly altered his features again into the chubby-cheeked bruiser from earlier, and cast a Notice-Me-Not on the secret door and himself. Before he could open the door however, Ragnok spoke.

"Mr. Malfoy, as you very well know, I cannot divulge the identity of anyone who does not wish to be revealed. You should know- you've tried to over-turn that rule often enough. I will not reveal that man's vault numbers or contact him on behalf of yourself- I thought wizards could do anything?" The slightly sarcastic tone was obviously lost on the inbred pureblood, who growled.

"If you won't give it to me willingly, then. **Im**-" Harry quickly opened the door and slipped inside. He drew up behind Malfoy Sr. and released the Notice-Me-Nots. Before Malfoy could utter the rest of Unforgivable, Harry gripped the man's neck, and pulled.

With a swift cracking sound, the man's neck twisted away from his body, and flopped at a nasty angle. Even the bloodthirsty goblin in front of him flinched. Harry tapped Malfoy with his wand, and sent him to Knockturn Alley.

"And how are you, today, Ragnok, all going well?" Harry chuckled as the goblin's eyes bugged out, and he turned for the door.

"My Lord, you are wearing the ring, as I asked?"

"Yes, Ragnok, I am. I take it that the summoning runes are for goblins, when I am in danger?" Ragnok nodded.

"Then I will use it sparingly- anything that poses a danger to me would probably rip them apart."

The old goblin paled slightly, and allowed Harry to leave without further question.

* * *

Once out onto Diagon Alley, Harry looked around. He thought about what he needed, and then what he wanted, making a mental list. _First stop, Jupiter, is Funky Trunks, I think and then Ollivander's for a better wand. What do you think?_ Harry asked.

'_My Lord, perhaps you had better visit this 'trunk shop' I see in your mind, it would be of great use in storing your no doubt sizable purchases?_' Jupiter replied.

_Good idea!_

With that, Harry turned around and took the left turning past Gringotts. This eventually led to a dead end, with some dirty shop-fronts. Amongst the seedy bars and wizarding cafés, was a lone shop- Funky Trunks. Harry ambled on towards it, ignoring the heckling from some already-drunk patrons of the nearest bar- he could smell Firewhiskey all the way over where he was. He casually wondered how they willingly got drunk this early in the morning. Jupiter flew off to the rooftops to save Harry explaining his presence, probably to hunt some pigeons. He reached the door to the shop, and stepped inside.

* * *

In the dim light of the shop, Harry, for an instant, thought that the walls were made of trunks. Then, common sense took over, and he realised that they were just stacked to the ceiling. Weird. At the counter, sat a rough-looking elderly gentleman who wore sunglasses over obviously bloodshot eyes. _Must have a hangover_, thought Harry. He walked up to the man, and spoke softly. Nest to stay on his good side.

"Excuse me, I would like to but a trunk. Are there any you could suggest for me?" The man looked extremely grateful for his consideration. He whispered back.

"Well, I suppose you would want to start with the cheapest, then?" He eyed Harry's clothes, which were the remnants of Dudley's old shirt and jeans.

"No, I would like to see your best. I've come into some money, so I'd like to get the best before it goes, see." The old man's eyes lit up.

"Well then, I should think that the Hold-All Chest would be a good start. Let me see, now…" He started to flip through a massive a catalogue. "Ah, yes. The Hold-All Chest is made of rosewood- very nice! The hinges and clasps are goblin-forged steel- no breakages, and no ownership-problems! The lock allows access to the three compartments, all of which measure up to a metre squared each." The old man was obviously very happy with the trunk, as he seemed to forget his hangover.

"I think not, sir. I need far more space than that, and many more compartments. Have you nothing better? There are other shops I can go, to, of course…" Harry knew the old man would hate to let a customer go so easily, hence the pretence.

"Oh! Well, if that's the case, sir, if you'll be excusing the pun, there is also the Classic Hogwarts Trunk? No? Well, there is _one_ other, sir… But it's very expensive, see, and there are only five in the collection…" Harry looked back at the man, and fished into his Moneybag. He casually let the Galleons in his grasp clink back into the pouch.

"Uh, right. Follow me, if you would sir." The old man began to hobble to the back of the shop, and a dark curtain. Following, Harry wondered why he didn't just offer the most expensive first. He heard Jupiter's thought from outside.

'_My Lord, perhaps the price would scare away potential customers?_'

_Aye, that must be it. Thank you, Jupiter_.

The old man turned back just before the curtain, and said, "These are my finest creations- I made myself bankrupt making these, but the beauty of them! Ah! Like nothing else, I tell you!" With that, the old man swept aside the curtain.

Inside the back room, on five padded pedestals, were five large trunks. There was a blank metal plate on top of each, presumably for names, and the wood used was like no other- it was bone-white, with small patches of pale red blossoming into existence every now and then. The lock on the front was so intricate, it seemed to defy logic at first glance. Harry looked at the old man, who was gazing adoringly at the five masterpieces. He spoke softly, then.

"I would greatly appreciate it if you did not touch, sir. They react to the magic of the owner, see. It's the wood, I think. The wood itself cost the better part of half my savings- nearly three thousand Galleons all told! The locks are my own design, not even the goblins could break into the lock! Of course, I sold the design to them to pay for the rest of the chests construction. Each chest has as many compartments as needed, and I can charm them for you if you'd like. This room is under the Fidelius, you know. As soon as you leave, you will forget it exists. So no stealing!" The old man had a jealous glint in his eye then.

"How much, sir, would you ask for them, then? They are exactly what I need!" The old man stood stock still.

"Them? As in, _all five_?! You cannot be serious, boy! These bankrupted me _building_ them, you can't expect to buy all _five_!" The old man was basically hopping on the spot, unsure of whether to be amazed or pissed.

"Yes, all five. I reckon I can afford them easily- I bet it won't even dent my accounts. I'll give you… my pet dragon, if I can't afford it!"

"Deal!" The two clasped hands, as a band of fire weaved around them, bind their oath. The old man smirked, and licked his lips.

"Each chest would cost you thirty thousand Galleons, and all five would set you back one hundred and fifty thousand Galleons- not even the Malfoys can spend that much at once!" The old man smirked in anticipation- dragons were valuable beasts, nowadays. He rubbed his hands together in greed. He did not, however, expect Harry's reaction.

"Shall we make it two hundred thousand, and no one needs to know these ever existed. Deal?" Harry withdrew a bank slip from the pouch of Money Monies, and started filling it out. "Oh, what's your name, I'll need to address this to your vault." Harry smirked inwardly as the old man gaped at his latest customer.

"I- I- I don't understand. How- Who are you?"

"A man who recently became very, very rich, and simply wants the best. Name?"

"Uh… Mynar Volkner… Vault 12,896. You actually… You have…" The man was speechless in awe at the sum of money about to be deposited into his vault- he could pay off his debts, buy a proper house, eat proper food! He jumped for joy when he thought of his children's reactions.

"Now, Mr. Volkner, I rather believe that you lost our bet. Now, it's time for my prize!" Harry grinned ferally, as he looked at the old man. "I would like you to charm the compartments I set up for me, please." The man's reaction was classic! He slumped in relief, he half expected to have to hand back all of that gold.

"Of course, sir! Anything!"

* * *

Harry left Funky Trunks with five imprinted chests of a mysterious wood and design, charmed to perfection. He'd explore them later. As he walked back down the Alley, Jupiter swept back down to his shoulder.

'_Bet me away on five wooden boxes, would ye my Lord? Is that all I am worth to you? Oh!_' Jupiter's sound of alarm resonated in Harry's mind, making him wince. '_My Lord, that wood! That looks much like the wood of my homeland! Weirwood, famous for its connection to the old gods. However did it come here?_'

Harry was surprised- he could feel the different timbre of magic flowing through it, but now he understood the otherness- it wasn't of this world. As he walked towards Ollivander's, Harry thought about what he needed to buy still. _Clothes, first and foremost, after I've found a way to carry my weapons on me unseen. Then, some food, and after that, books, books, books, and maybe some accessories._

He smirked as he lightly pushed open the door to Ollivander's. The bell rang, and Harry closed the door.

"Ah, Mr. Potter! Eleven inches, holly, nicely supple. Phoenix feather core… How fares your wand, Mr. Potter? Not in need of another one, are you?" Mr. Ollivander looked somewhat nervous at that, for some reason.

"My wand is fine, Mr. Ollivander. I was wondering about a new one, if possible. You know why, I am sure. Priori Incantatem. The Brother-Wand Effect. I need to stop it from happening again." Ollivander's face fell. Harry wasn't concerned that Ollivander knew it was him- the old man could likely fell magic on a base level, after living as long as he had.

"I am afraid, Harry, that a wizard may only have one wand. Wizengamot legislation, I'm afraid. If they knew…" Harry was worried. He needed a different wand to beat Voldemort, that he knew for certain.

"Mr. Ollivander, I know that you would be shut down, but please, think! It's either me, or Voldemort who will come looking for a new wand. Who would you prefer?"

Ollivander blanched at that.

"I thought so. Shall we begin?"

* * *

After approximately fifty wands, Harry was losing his patience.

"Are there no special ones, sir? I have things to do!" Ollivander was excited at the challenge, no matter the consequences should the Ministry find out.

"Ah, but Harry! Have you no sense of fun? What a _challenge_ this is! There are several wands that could be considered as more powerful, made of rarer materials. But these require a magical core to rival even Merlin's to use! I can test you, of course, but… I don't see why not." Ollivander could see Harry chafing at waiting this long. More than an hour had passed since he entered the dark shop. He led Harry over to a small niche, pointing at the other side of the target, and said,

"Right, Mr. Potter! Cast a simple spell, such as the Levitation spell or Stupefy, at this target. Make it as strong as possible, please!" The old man could barely contain his excitement.

Harry thought about the damage he'd cause if he used all his might in one spell… "Sir, I will need a vow of silence in this matter, especially from Dumbledore. I cannot be revealed this early." _To hell with it. He doesn't know what I can do! I don't want to level Diagon Alley, anyway. I haven't finished shopping!_

* * *

**A/N**: Things will speed up soon, I promise, I think it's some kind of Fanfic staple that the beginnings are slow.

On a separate note, would people be interested in the other things I've been dabbling in, in my off-time? An inFAMOUSxMass Effect crossover, another HP crossed with something special, and a HPxStar Wars. Let me know, pleeeeease? [].[]

* * *

Inspirational Music of the Week: May It Be by Enya

Film of the Week: The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey

Book of the Week: The Spiderwick Chronicles: The Field Guide


	13. Chapter 13- WANDHOOD

Disclaimer: If ye know of Harry Potter, then ye know I don't own it- I'm male. Seemplz.

**WANDHOOD**

_Harry thought about the damage he'd cause if he used all his might in one spell… "Sir, I will need a vow of silence in this matter, especially from Dumbledore. I cannot be revealed this early."_ To hell with it. He doesn't know what I can do! I don't want to level Diagon Alley, anyway. I haven't finished shopping!

**_Stupefy_**, Harry thought. The red bolt of supercharged lightning careened the width of the shop, and into the dead centre of the target. The red and white ringed target instantly disintegrated, as a shockwave of red, pulsing force swept through the shop. A number appeared in mid-air, where the target used to be. A scorched hole in the wall gave away its old position. Harry looked at his wand, or what was left of it. A smouldering mass of carbonised wood was clutched in his right hand. _Too much power, methinks…_

Ollivander's bushy grey eyebrows rose into his hairline, and he promptly sat flat on his backside. _But, but that's not… WHAT?!_ The old man thought, as he studied the floating numerals. _Not even Merlin himself scored that high! Harry beat him by a factor of ten thousand! What on earth…_

Harry quickly repaired the damage, and doused the flames that the bolt of magic had caused. He laughed at Ollivander's expression- one of stupefaction. He bent down and heaved the old man onto a stool, making sure he was alright.

"Mr. Ollivander. Sir? Are you alright? Can I have a wand now, please?" The old man shook himself, and glanced at the wall. Same as ever.

"Mr. Potter, I have never in my life heard of a score that high… You didn't even speak aloud! No one can know! The press would hound you until death to find your secrets! Of course you may have a wand! I am proud that you are using one of my own, too!" Ollivander hopped off the stool like a spring chicken, and led Harry towards the back of the shop. He casually flicked his wand over his shoulder, locking and bolting the door.

"This Mr. Potter, is my collection of special wands. They are purely experimental, you understand- to my knowledge, no other wandsmith has ever used two woods in a wand, nor runes or combined cores. Walk among my creations, Mr. Potter, and find your match!" Harry raised his eyebrows at the old man's theatrics. "What? It's not very often that I nearly get my shop blown up, and find the most powerful wizard ever. Let alone show him my wands!"

Harry slowly walked past the four shelves of wand boxes, each wrapped in cotton wrappings, like an Egyptian mummy. He passed his hand over each box's end, feeling the magic waving off of each one in turn. As he neared the end of the fourth shelf, he felt an astonishing wave of power off of one box in particular. He pointed it out to Ollivander, who slowly took it off the shelf, and unwrapped the inert bindings. Looking at Harry, he spoke.

"I am not surprised, Mr. Potter, that you have chosen this wand. My finest, a god amongst the others, a rival power to the Elder Wand of legend. Made of redwood and laurel, the two woods have been grown into each other- they share a symbiotic relationship at the deepest of levels. Redwood symbolises ancient knowledge, whilst laurel stands for victory. Runes for healing, conjuration and precision are etched along the length, to aid its forté. The core of a Thestral's heartstring doused in a Drakul Lord's blood links this wand to both the afterlife and the Dark. I can sense the dark in you, Mr. Potter, but also your determination to help the light. This is a special wand, Mr. Potter, one which is destined for great things. It will be able to cope with whatever you can pump through it, I'm sure- as I'm also sure that you didn't give that test your all. When the time comes, this wand will do great things." The old man's brow furrowed then.

"I believe that you would like a holster for this, would you not? Perhaps some charms on it?" Harry nodded.

"Perhaps, sir, I could learn under you the art of wandsmithing? I promise not to enter business with my skills until you are happy for me to do so, if that helps sir. You see, I will not always… be here, if you understand me?" Ollivander looked positively enchanted that he wanted to learn from him. It seemed to have done the trick.

"Harry! I would be ecstatic for you to do so! I would ask where you would go, but I suppose that is too private? Yes, I thought so, too. Now, first, we have to take an accounting of your purchases, and then I will take your vow of silence…"

* * *

Harry walked out of Ollivander's beaming at his new purchases. His wand was safe in the best holster money could buy. Anti-summon, anti-theft and protection charms abounded upon the stalwart piece of leatherwork. He'd watched Ollivander craft the holster from a small tanned hide, and into the shining example on his arm. He knew that he'd be making changes later, but for now, it was as good as it was going to get. He ambled up the Alley once more, and he came to Madam Malkin's Robes for all Occasions. As he was about to push the door open, someone stormed out. He stood stock still, and allowed them to plough into him. In due course, that person was laid out on the floor, due to his immovability.

Harry looked down at the prone figure. _Interesting. Malfoy Jr. is out on the sulk-train again…_ Harry crouched down, and slowly drew the Potter Ring over the boy's neck. Malfoy tried to leap up out of the dirt, thus spearing his neck on the sharp claw. He suddenly howled in agony as the pain runes came into effect, and the vampiric ones sucked out some of his magic. Harry smirked in sadistic pleasure at the boy's screaming. The pain should only last until the claw was no longer in contact. _What a wimp_, Harry thought.

As Malfoy ran off screaming, he walked into the clothing shop, leaving Jupiter to once again take to the rooftops.

* * *

The normally ordered racks of clothing were strewn across the shop floor, and Madam Malkin sat in the middle of the chaos, bawling her eyes out.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong? What did that boy do to make you cry, Madam Malkin?" The woman howled.

"He- he- He stole all of the money in my till, and- and he showed me the Dark Mark!" Harry frowned. _Seems like Draco is following his father…_ Harry thought, as he pondered the situation- he had no experience with crying women. He quickly knelt down next to her, saying "Madam Malkin, trust me when I say that I will get your money back for you. I know who that was. Tell you what- If you tell me how much he took, I'll give you that back now, and I'll take it off him when I catch him, eh?" Harry helped the lady up, and set about dusting off her robes. Next, he waved his wand, replacing everything as they should have been.

Harry turned to Madam Malkin then, and said, "Right, then. How much was it he took?"

"He took my takings for the day, so not too much, but still… around five hundred Galleons!" Madam Malkin winced, knowing that the price was beyond the pocket change of her normal customers. Harry grinned. Not as much as he thought.

"Well, tell you what. I'll give you five hundred and fifty, to make up for the stress, and I'll enjoy cursing the living shit out of him later, ok?" His sunny tone was the opposite of his intention, stunning the middle-aged witch for a second. Then, she smiled a watery smile, and nodded. Harry then walked over to the open till, and deposited handfuls of Galleons, Sickles and Knuts into it. He smiled at the witch, letting her know he was serious. Then he turned to the racks and started browsing.

The witch sat down behind the counter, and settled her head in her hands, slowly drifting off to sleep.

* * *

"Hello, Madam Malkin? You awake? I've chosen my robes, so I'd like to pay." The witch sleepily rubbed her eyes, until the lad before her came into view.

"Oh! I'm so sorry dear, I must have dropped off. What was it you wanted?" She saw the piles of robes in Harry's arms. "Right you are dear, I'll need to take your size, and then we can get around to personalising them, ok, dear?"

Harry personally thought that she was overdoing the whole 'dear' thing, but who was he to judge? The witch withdrew a tape measure from her voluminous bosom, and set about taking down the floating numbers representing Harry's manly figure. After that was done, she stored the measure back in her cleavage, and noticed Harry looking.

"What? It's the easiest place to keep something I use all the time! Don't stare!" Harry glanced away guiltily, but refused to blush. Why should he? She was the one fishing around in her boobs. Anyway. The witch proceeded to alter each robe to Harry's measurements.

His eventual shopping list consisted of:

_One black cotton duelling robe._

_One set of black Hungarian Horntail duelling boots._

_One set of silk pyjamas, minus nightcap._

_Three sets of black khakis. _

_One set of Colour-Change plimsolls._

He asked Madam Malkin to charm them to be impervious to fire, water and extreme winds and snows. The robes were embroidered with the phoenix from the box that contained the Potter Ring- the one swallowing Lightning. Then, the pyjamas were embroidered with the Hogwarts coat of arms. After that was done, Harry paid Madam Malkin, much to her displeasure. She knew he'd given her more than five hundred Galleons, but he wouldn't take it back. So, she gave him a free charm, attached to his Family Ring- one of protection against bad luck.

* * *

Harry walked out onto Diagon Alley once more, looking left and right as did so. Silently, he cast a ward over the building that prevented access to anyone with the Dark Mark, or intention to take it. This summer would see several _very_ angry customers, covered in boils and welts, chief among them being Severus Snape. How was he supposed to buy swishy robes in the latest fashion if he couldn't get into the shop?

Harry envisaged the justice done to the Death Eaters so far. One dead, one scarred for life (soon to be cursed to death), and that was it. Considering he was taking a break, Harry was pleased with his progress. For now. Harry turned to Knockturn Alley, wearing his new duelling clothes. He added some extra charms to the fabrics to ensure long life, no wear and tear, and an even climate. He pulled up the hood, and made sure it covered his still-disguised face. Then he swept down the seedier part of Diagon Alley, and into Knockturn.

Harry was eager to see the reception someone new would get, but fear was not one of them. The one hag he came across knelt before he reached her, and only rose after he had swept silently by. _Curiouser and curiouser…_ Harry pondered. _Maybe it's the Mask in my bag…_ Harry was heading for Borgin & Burke's first, and from there, he would get some information about other facilities in Knockturn.

As soon as Harry came across the dirty-windowed shop-front, he fixed his features. He made his eyes recede into his head like Sirius' and made his hair super-greasy like Snape's. Large, overbearing cheekbones over a sallow mouth completed his look- a typically unsavoury character. He swung the door open loudly, causing it to bash into the wall behind it. He stepped through the portal, and slammed the door shut. Sweeping up to the counter, he made his presence known by loudly calling for Borgin.

"Where are you Borgin? I have need of your services! Where are you, little runt?!" Borgin stepped out from behind a stack of shelves filled with old skulls. He sidled up to the counter, bowing all the while.

"My Lord, my Lord, I am at your humble service! What can I do for you this fine day?" The little man wheedled like a child.

"I wish to buy your entire stock of books. Unless, of course, they prove to be the meanderings of some useless wannabe Dark Wizard who never achieved anything." The old man gained a greedy glint in his eye at that. He was used to lords coming in and pushing him around, oh yes, but never interested in spending _that_ much money!

"My Lord, I am pleased that you are one who pursues knowledge, but… I regret to inform you that there is something you must do first. I must have your vow- the Unbreakable Vow- that you are not of the Ministry, nor intend to tell others of the contents of my stock. Not all of it is… strictly legal, you understand, hm?" Harry nodded, and grasped the elderly man's hand. Two fiery bands formed around their wrists, signifying that both parts of the agreement were carried over to the Vow.

"Very well. Follow me, my Lord." Harry was loving the 'my Lord's from everyone, it made him feel very… medieval. Harry followed the old man through to the back room, and from there down through a hidden trap door into a large storage space filled to the brim with shelves and storage containers. He could tell that most of it was junk. Cursed junk, but still junk. He took a look at the books on the shelves, delighted to find some good ones amongst the chaff.

_A Dark Compendium of Potent Potions, Poisons and Pastes. A Dark Compendium of Potent Curses, Jinxes, and Hexes. A Dark Compendium of Potent Ingredients and their Beasts._ Three of the four Dark Compendiums! Harry wondered about the fourth, Potent Rituals, Pacts and Vows. He picked up the three, and put them to the side. Other books caught his attention. _Ministry-Regulated Incantations, and their Effects. What the Ministry Doesn't Want You To Know About Blood Magic. Ministry-Controlled Substances and how to Get Them. Ancient Civilisations and their Lost Knowledge: Atlantis. Ancient Civilisations and their Lost Knowledge: Peru. Ancient Civilisations and their Lost Knowledge: Egypt. Ancient Civilisations and their Lost Knowledge: Japan._ These books continued with other countries- Africa, China, Russia, Mongolia, North America, Greece, Rome, even England. Harry was understandably excited about the last one- it may hold the ritual that threw Jupiter here! Besides books, Harry also rooted through the storage boxes, looking for anything interesting.

The first box held some decent jewels, but nothing he'd buy- he had tons anyway. The second box was much the same. The third, however, was different. Inside was a black stone monolith, simply seeping power. Harry didn't know what it was, but he wanted it. He put that storage box with his books, and carried on looking. The fourth box held mainly Merlin memorabilia, but had the occasional gem such as his Grimoire. The fifth was the same as the first two, until Harry came to the sixth and last box.

He could feel his wand actually _vibrating_ in the vicinity of it, almost as if it was attracted to whatever was inside… Turning to Borgin, Harry asked "Old man, what is in this box? It feels… Strange." Borgin crept forwards, and read the box signifier with his short eyesight.

"My- My Lord. Funny that you should react to this box in particular… Inside is a tablet, one leading to vast trove of knowledge, one that I haven't been able to read. It, ah- threw me out. Didn't particularly enjoy my presence. My Lord, the tablet is one that I _think_ leads to the last sealing place of Cain- the son of Adam and Eve, who killed his own brother. The legendary first Dark Wizard, and first Parseltongue. If you can read it, I'll shift it for five hundred Galleons- not a Knut less!" Harry pondered this. Adam and Eve had been the ones to steal the first Apple of Eden from the First Civilisation, thus granting them the genetic trait of Parseltongue. He knew of Desmond's quest to defeat the Templars, who bore Cain's Mark. He knew Cain was immensely powerful, so who knew what knowledge he'd locked away? He'd buy it!

Harry took one last look around the secret room, and picked one more book- _Animagi and How to be One_. He quickly left before he bought anything else, levitating his purchases behind him. At the counter, where Borgin once more held his reign, the items were totalled up. Even though the library in the Room of True Self was amazingly extensive, it barely covered what Harry needed to know, nor was it the limit of what the Inheritance allowed him to take in.

"That will be fourteen thousand and thirty Galleons, twelve Sickles and four Knuts. Including my discount of buying more than half of good stock." Harry raised his eyebrows. Borgin being nice? What?

He reached for his Moneybag, and withdrew another draft. He wrote it out to Borgin himself, rather than the shop, and rounded it up to fifteen thousand Galleons- payment for the vow of silence.

"Borgin, before you receive this, I need your binding vow silence that you will never reveal in any way that I was here, understood?" Borgin nodded frantically, eager to receive the bonus. The two grasped hands, and a fiery band of light stretched around their hands. It faded, leaving a slight burnt line.

"Acceptable. Now, I am interested in other ancient artefacts, as well as muggle literature and technology. I need access to vast troves of knowledge, most of which is banned. Ideas?" Harry was curious as to what other kinds of things he could find in Knockturn- all he knew of was this very shop.

"Well, my Lord, seeing as you are the discerning customer with no respect for the Ministry, I'll point you in the right direction. Further down into Knockturn, is a small trapdoor into the muggle sewers. Through there is the basement of a muggle technology shop. Any technology you could want will be there. For the artefacts, there are plenty of dealerships out there that get orders in from Egypt, Mesopotamia, Greece, heck, even Atlantis. They're all illegal- supposedly Dark, due to their being foreign, see? There's even a rumour going around that Old Man Joe has some other tomb locations, and _extremely_ rare ingredients. Phoenix-talon rare…" Borgin winked, knowing that Harry was hooked. What he didn't know, however, that Harry was hooked on the tombs, rather than the ingredients.

"How do I get to… Old Man Joe, then?"

"I can only say this once, so listen carefully. Right. Left. Right. Left. Twist and jump. Left. Got it?" Harry nodded, and then left.

* * *

Harry looked left and then right out on Knockturn Alley. Following Borgin's instructions, he turned right, started the walk to Old Man Joe's. Harry quickly decided to not take the twists in the small alleys as actual turnings, and only the actual junctions. He reached a corner and turned sharp left, instead of left, into a small niche. He twisted and jumped, much as if he was apparating, and then took the left path. _Huh. The twist must have altered a ward or something._ Harry thought, as up ahead was a large warehouse, which definitely wasn't there before. He smiled.

* * *

The door creaked open before he could reach it, allowing Harry entry to a bizarre mix of plastic muggle décor and old stone. The warehouse held thousands upon thousands of the same storage boxes that Borgin had, stacked one atop another up to the roof, which had been expanded to accommodate all of the boxes. To the left of the large warehouse doors was a rickety plywood counter, balanced on two tables. Behind it was a twenty-something year old man with an overbearing name badge proclaiming him to be 'Joe'. Harry smirked, it must be some kind of unsettling tactic.

"I'm looking for ancient artefacts. No price limit. Rare books on pretty much anything. Tools and muggle items. Things you want to get rid of. Let's go!"

The next three hours were spent trawling through the relevant storage boxes- most were useless, but there were, of course, some diamonds in the rough. The locations of several tombs and ancient sites of power that would be useful later; several dozen books in varying languages detailing forgotten magicks, rituals and spells that would be useful; another black monolith similar to the one in Borgin and Burke's; and, finally, a massive stockpile of well-kept muggle tools, literature and technology, kept in a magic-proof box. These would be the basis of Harry's technosorcery business, and his forging of the new and improved weapons, with muggle knowledge to help him.

* * *

Harry left Old Man Joe's a very happy man. He'd gotten what he came for, plus some extra. Harry came back out of Knockturn Alley, ignored the other shops, and went straight out into muggle London, leaving Jupiter to hunt pigeons in Diagon Alley.

* * *

**A/N**: Just wondering if, y'know, all those many millions of readers out there would actually review at some point. It's not like I need some CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM or OPINONS or even ANY IDEAS. I would also still like to know if anyone would like to know my unpublished works… ₪.₪

* * *

Inspirational Music of the Week: The Kids Are Right Now by Skindred

Film of the Week: Fern Gully: The Last Rainforest

Book of the Week: Tuf Voyaging by George R. R. Martin


	14. Chapter 14- PANDORA

Disclaimer: If ye know of Harry Potter, then ye know I don't own it- I'm male. Seemplz.

**PANDORA**

_Harry left Old Man Joe's a very happy man. He'd gotten what he came for, plus some extra. Harry came back out of Knockturn Alley, ignored the other shops, and went straight out into muggle London, leaving Jupiter to hunt pigeons in Diagon Alley._

Harry knew that muggle London would be very confusing in its layout to anyone new- so he got a map before anything else. He prodded it with his wand, circling where was, and making sure he knew his way back. Then, he proceeded to wander. He exited the Leaky Cauldron onto Charing Cross Road, heading straight for the best bookshop he could find- Vernon was forever spouting how wide the variety of books was at Foyle's. He went in and proceeded to buy all books pertaining to forging weapons, carving wood, technology and its modern-day applications, a whole host of sci-fi books and graphic novels, and then the histories of most- if not all- countries on earth. Books on cultures, languages, and races. It was while he was browsing the fantasy section to see what muggles thought of magicals, when a presence caught his attention.

He couldn't quite describe it, but it felt similar to the vampiric runes on the Potter Ring. Subtly turning and leaning his back against the bookshelf, Harry casually scanned the room. A girl dressed in a long black coat with bright silver buckles and straps on was at the other end of the shop, between the elevator and the stairs. Her blouse looked like some kind of cross between a corset and lacy lingerie, which Harry found… interesting. She wore black boots, most likely combat boots, and white fishnet tights over skin-tight black jeans with arty rips in them. Her hair wasn't black like he'd expect from someone dressing like a goth, it was pure white. Harry flicked his eyes back to the book he was flicking through, and decided it was worth it. He turned his back to the girl, and then continued on to the clothes books. He looked around for books on how to make your own, with techniques and such. Once finished there, he went to the counter, and handed over the list of books he liked. The teller looked highly suspicious, as if Harry was likely to run off.

When Harry stood there, waiting and tapping his foot impatiently, the guy behind the desk called for help.

"If you put them in your back room, I'll make sure to take them all." Both of the shop assistants raised their eyebrows, there were nearly a thousand books all told! Harry nodded. The two started to shuttle bags of books into the staff room, which gradually filled right to the door. Harry followed them, and stayed when they left. When he was sure there was no one left, he cast a large Notice-Me-Not on the books and himself, which had the same effect of knocking out the camera in the room until he and the magic left.

Then, Harry pulled on of his special trunks out of his left pocket. Expanding it, he set about packing all of the books into one of the rooms. _Best buy ever!_ Harry thought as he contemplated the unlimited rooms of each trunk. He'd sort the books into subject matter later, maybe make it a room for muggle stuff, and a room for magic stuff. He quickly finished organising his books, and he also took the liberty of storing his other purchases while he had somewhere private to do so.

Once finished, Harry packed the trunks back into his pocket, safe with the anti-pickpocket charms as they were. Harry took down the Notice-Me-Not charms, and quickly walked out the back way of the shop- he didn't want the assistants to remember his face too much. He could still faintly feel the presence he'd noticed earlier, but he paid it no mind.

* * *

Further down Charing Cross Road was a massive shopping centre, which Harry headed for next. He knew that he didn't particularly fit in with the crowds here. They kept on giving him weird looks about his scaled overcoat and black clothes. He wandered aimlessly for a little bit, absorbing the atmosphere. He was _so_ glad that being cooped up as a child hadn't affected his mind- some people would be terrified of the noise and crowds, but Harry liked it. It reminded him of the hustle and bustle of Hogwarts- except there were more young mums. Harry spotted one shop which looked very good to start in. The window had several mannequins dressed in long coats, but these weren't just black- some were varying colours, and cloths. He popped his head in, and saw a massive variety of clothing- not just scene, but indie, formalwear, steampunk, even some from varying cultures. He continued into the shop, and started browsing the men's side of the long room. This was pretty much the first time he had free reign in what he bought- Madam Malkin's didn't count, as he was constrained by the close-minded wizarding styles.

In muggledom, you could do pretty much anything with your body, and the only people who would really care would be your parents. Even employers were OK, if things weren't taken too far. Harry smiled- he would have fun here, trying on different fashions, finding what fit and what clashed with himself.

* * *

Shortly into his visit, a shop assistant saw him browsing, and looking somewhat unsure of himself. She walked up, and said, "Can I help you, sir? Are you looking for anything in particular? By the way, I'm Kirsty!" Not really paying attention, Harry answered on autopilot. He didn't notice her not even glancing at the Potter Ring.

"I'm reinventing myself. I've never shopped like this in my life, and never for myself. I don't even know what I'm doing, just copying other people," He admitted. The assistant smiled at that. She'd get a massive commission out of this one. She could see his clothes were expensive, and tailored from what seemed to be a reptile's skin.

"Well then, I guess I should start by explaining these different styles? First, near the entrance, is what most people call the goth and emo styles. Basically, black, with bits of colours thrown in for the emo style. Slimmer clothes and more tight-fitting for emos, too. Straps, buckles, skulls, crosses, bones, all that stuff is generally in the gothic section, but people mix and match sometimes. Emos also have a typical non-conformity thing- so weird hair, kinda all over the place, normally long over the front, short in back. They can sometimes have eyeliner and lipstick that's deemed over-the-top, but each to their own, I say! Then there's steampunk, which is basically gothic, but toned down, and then mixed in with aristocratic attire and metal. You'll find pocket watches, bird skulls embedded with bits of this and that, and a lot of pinstripe trousers for the men. Leather shoes, sometimes with metal bits on them. For the ladies, there's a bit of fishnet tights in all these three, and some lace in the last one. And small top hats in steampunk, too, for some reason. Last in the non-conformity sections, is indie. Independent, basically. For the women, it's going to either be airy-fairy, or trousers and cardies. Big shirts, too. For the guys, some have ear stretchers, tattoos, and that, but mainly its band shirts and jeans, or thin t-shirts and chinos. So, what are we after, then?"

{{{A/N: I put this in here to describe the scene groups of England, to you charming foreigners ;) speaking of which, I am one too, to whatever!}}}

Harry stood there, suddenly realising his predicament- he knew _nothing_ about clothes. He started to fidget, worried about a decision, when the assistant started laughing.

"You don't need to choose one and stick to it! It's all about non-conformity! Take what you like, and _wear_ it, for God's sakes!"

"Oh! Well, then, I'll start at the door, and make my way back, yeah?" With that, Harry started to browse with an actual purpose. He picked out a loud of different trousers, shirts, jackets, coats, waistcoats, ties, shoes, hats, even some badges and patches and things to customise what he had. At the end of it, he was probably trying on half the shop/ male stock. He also grabbed some bags for storage and such. One thing interested him greatly, however- the leather bracers and such that were part of the steampunk display. One looked like your average leather bracer, but had brass cogs that turned. A small glass circle held a compass, too. He noted its design down, promising himself he'd make one later.

At the dressing room, he gradually made his way through the clothes, until he had refined his tastes to a smaller selection. He had kept vestiges of each style, with the non-conformity ringing true in his mind- he was Harry Potter, the only person to survive the Killing Curse- and he therefore decided to keep several wardrobes, pertaining to each style. He resolved to style his hair, instead of just having it tied back. He'd also see what kind of things a decent hairdresser could do, so he could do it later. He enjoyed these simple things, as unnecessary to his immortality as they were. Out of the things he kept, he wore the baggy black goth trousers with vivid green highlights and straps, the army surplus combat boots, the Guns 'n' Roses band shirt, and the long leather coat that fastened like a waistcoat at his torso, with golden chevrons on the shoulders. On his hands were linen wrappings up to his elbows, over-wrapped with ragged-edged leather bindings. The gloves were strangely comfortable, too. He gave a hefty tip to the assistant, Kirsty, for her amazing help and knowledge. Harry then picked up his bags, and left the shop.

_Well, one down… how many left?!_ Harry thought smugly. He turned into a shoe shop, called JD Sports. He thought about all of the trainers and plimsolls that Dudley had ruined due to his weight. Harry smirked as he entered, and went straight to the men's section- he knew how a shoe shop worked, at least. The men's section was the one without high heels and pink.

He ended up buying four pairs of trainers, and one pair of plimsolls. The trainers themselves were in varying styles- One was a split two-toe pair like the Japanese ninja shoes he'd seen in Dudley's DVDs. He also bought some tabi socks to go with them. The next pair were green and gold hi-tops that he thought he could charm to have moving snakes on later. Another was the same, but scarlet and silver, for lions. The fourth pair were Barefoot FiveFingers- trainers that fitted the foot like a glove, with a sleeve for each toe. This protected the foot, but allowed maximum manoeuvrability. He planned on making these even better later.

Harry was very surprised that the shoes were so expensive, actually. Four pairs of shoes and some random colours of laces had come to nearly a five hundred pounds! Harry was happy that he had the money to cater to his needs. As he walked back out of the shoe shop, he still wore his combat boots- he'd look really weird in bright red and silver trainers in his current get-up. Next up was the clothing side of JD- he needed some clothes he could casually wear, along with things that were good for training in. He walked back out ten minutes later with another bag of jogging trousers, sport socks and various shirts ranging from basketball jerseys to string vests.

Finished with his sports side of the day, Harry decided to have lunch, after storing his purchases in his trunks. He headed to the top floor of the centre, and joined a queue into McDonald's. He studied the menu with haste- the queue was fast getting shorter. He decided on a large sweet chilli wrap, large chips, and milkshake. Three things he'd never had- but he had the appetite for it now. He quickly ordered and paid, and drank his milkshake while he waited for his food. It took maybe thirty seconds for his food to arrive. Thanking the person on the till, Harry went and sat down, chewing on a chip as he went. He ate slowly, knowing he had plenty of time until dinner. He looked around at all of the different people, and how… unconcerned they looked. They didn't know what was coming, and would surely break when it did. Harry grew more determined to stop Voldemort from reaching full power- these people didn't need the stress and heartache of a hidden war affecting them.

Harry suddenly tensed. _That presence… I've felt it before! That girl, in Foyle's! Is she following me?_ Harry relaxed as fast as he'd tensed, going back to his food. He picked up his empty cup and walked to the bin, making sure to nonchalantly look around him as he did so. _There._ The girl in the black goth coat and white hair was near the exit. It was almost as if she was blocking it…

Harry stood tall, and reassembled his features into his own. He stared directly into the girl's eyes, and lightly brushed her mind with a probe. What he didn't expect was an ice-cold wall even preventing the probe from reaching her. His eyes widened in awe. _She's a vampire! Only the undead have minds that guarded!_ He remembered a passage from a book- '_The undead have walls around their minds unto ice- their bodies are dead, and so are their minds. Beware the undead, for they are masters of the mind arts!_

Harry knew for a fact that the author was anti-vampire- most people then were. So it stood to reason that he'd be wrong about their attributes, too. He also knew the term 'undead' was misleading- vampires had a pulse, just like humans. The girl started moving towards him, but in an interestingly non-threatening fashion- her hands were open, and she had a small smile signifying she wanted to talk. _Just as well, seeing as I can't read her bloody mind…_

The girl plopped down at his table, and helped herself to a chip. She was far too perky for a vampire, surely? Harry walked back to the table, completely unsure of what to do. He sat down opposite the girl, ready to start muggle fighting if it came to it.

"Mr. Potter, pleased to meet you." She extended her hand, and shook his own. She wasn't ice-cold as he'd expected, but slightly warmer than the average human. "I was not sure if I had seen you earlier, in that bookshop across the road… Changing your face at will is an impressive skill!" Harry hadn't noticed her eyes before. They were a sharp violet, much like a pure amethyst, that seemed like pools of colour. The colour swirled slightly, with small white strands of iris arching out from the centre.

Harry shook his head slightly, back into the here and now. "Thanks. It took a while, but I managed it. You are?"

"Pandora Caedis. I can guess you know what I am? I felt your probe, after all." Harry gave a small laugh, and then continued munching on his chips.

"Yeah, I thought you were a muggle to begin with. Latin, to do with blood. Can also mean assassin. I take it you're one of the Sanguinius Assassins? Of the Order?" Pandora looked suddenly afraid.

"_How do you know that?_ Not even my sisters know of my connection to the Order!"

"There are books on vampire heraldry. I read a lot of them, and formed some educated guesses through the bigotry." Pandora's eyes widened. A wizard who didn't hate vampires? What?

"You- you know that I'm a vampire, a killer, someone who feasts on the life force of others to maintain their life? And you casually blow it off? I could kill everyone here, and you could do nothing about it," she whispered, cautious of eavesdropping muggles. She suddenly had a thought. Wasn't he supposed to be fifteen? He looked nearly twenty, with his muscles and serene laidback-ness.

"I've killed too, you know. Once. It doesn't take much. What I'm interested in, really, is what a pretty girl like you is doing following me. Any ideas?" Harry smirked at her, giving her a grin. He swiftly took a massive bite out of his rapidly cooling wrap, and watched her as her expressions flitted across her face. _She really is quite pretty…_ He thought.

"I- What? I was told to contact you and give you something. Nothing else, human. Your lecherous minds have no place here!" He'd hit a nerve, he was sure.

"So… show me your package. Careful, now, we're in a public place!" Harry was fighting to maintain a straight face at Pandora's reaction.

"You- Urgh! My father wants you to know something. He wants you to know that the Lightning One may count on him and his, when the final battle comes. The package, human, is an item that was found in one of our safe houses. I believe you know of your ancestors, the Peverells? Well they had other descendants, from a different brother. My father has decided to pledge him and his to your cause, and as a sign of goodwill, we present the Gaunt Family Ring." In a swirl, Pandora retrieved a box from her black coat, one with a small gold hinge and clasp, and covered in black velvet. Harry was suddenly taken back three years, his time, to his dream of a ring hidden in a shack. The magic coming off of this ring was _exactly_ the same!

Harry remembered a ring, in a hole underneath some rotten floorboards in an old shack. And bonds… to a soul, and to something… Else. He gently took the Ring, and its case from Pandora, asking,

"Did anyone touch this? Or try to wear it?" He wore a pained expression- the curse on this ring would be incredibly damaging to a vampire, let alone their bloodline… "The curse on this would cause a mortal man or woman to gradually shrivel up and die, but to a vampire… The bloodline would be cursed. Every person turned by the infected would have no mind, they would me a mindless monster!"

Pandora's eyes widened. "You can sense magic that well? And you know there's a curse on the Ring? We sensed it suddenly yesterday, and excavated the main room of the safe house. In it was a whole load of knick knacks, and this. We could feel the pain and death on it. Comes with being a creature of the night. No one touched it _at all_!" Harry sagged in his chair in relief- no mindless vampires running around stacking cars and thinking the sun will burn them.

"Good. Don't hand it to me here. Let's go somewhere else." Feeble flirting aside, Harry knew that something big would happen if he took the Ring in the middle of a public place. "I suggest that you take me somewhere private." Pandora looked slightly suspicious at this- he _had_ been making innuendo all the time she'd been there. Then, she took his hand before he could snatch another chip, and apparated out.

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**A/N**: This is my last regular update. From here on out, we enter murky territory. A far-off land called 'Year 14 in the local Sixth Form'. Unfortunately, this means less time to write, less time to publish, and less time to enjoy myself. Simply because I was a retard and didn't try hard enough in my exams. Well, shit.

Updates will be when and where I can- no more Friday afternoons, people!

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Inspirational Music of the Week: Erotic Robotic by Marmaduke Duke

Film of the Week: The Boy in Striped Pyjamas

Book of the Week: Eragon by Christopher Paolini


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